The Fifth Act
by oliver.snape
Summary: After coming to an understanding during the Horcrux hunt, Snape and Harry spend the next year reclaiming what they never had in their lives while playing their roles in the war. HP/SS though not rushed , with a happy ending with some humour throughout.
1. Ch 1 Burning Letters

Author's note: This starts off rather dark, but it is a light story and will have a non-sickening happy ending. It's mostly done, and updates will come every two or three days as I slough through the editing. I am trying to keep it as accurate to 1998 as technology is concerned, but please forgive a few errors now and again. And now we start the story of how Snape and Potter reclaimed their lives after the war.

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The Fifth Act Chapter 1 - Burning Letters.

**May 5****th****, 1998**

_When the War Ended_. It was the perfect name for the book, and he had been awake for the last thirty-six hours trying to complete it. Step by step, hourly accounts of what happened directly after You Know Who had finally been defeated, with hours of interviews that he'd picked through to get all perspectives. He supposed he should have felt the same anguish and grief of the families he'd interviewed, but artistic license and the desire to publish the bloody book before anyone else could do something similar had kept him unemotional. If only he could find Harry Bloody Potter and finish the last part. But no one, except seemingly the Weasleys, knew where the man was, and they refused to tell. He briefly considered getting the Minister to order Potter out, for the good of the community, but had nixed that idea. The after effects would not have been pretty.

He glared at the table where the latest edition of The Evening Prophet was resting, the only thing visible was the large "WHERE IS SEVERUS SNAPE?" headline. One Ronald Weasley and one Hermione Granger had confirmed that they'd seen the bat like man die in some run down old hovel called the Shrieking Shack, but no body had been found. Vampire rumours immediately sprang up, sordid tales twisted with lies regarding the man's past. It seemed that no one had really known him well in his younger days, but many were eager to drag his name through the mud. A perk of being a Death Eater, he supposed, with a twisted smile. But it didn't matter now, as it seemed he just had to wait for Potter to appear by himself. His owls requesting interviews had gone unanswered, which meant that either Potter was ignoring the requests, or not accepting mail. He'd sent two letters, experimentally of course, to Severus Snape as well, and had received the same lack of response.

The clock chimed for 1 am, and he reached for his dicto-quill with an evil gleam in his eyes. Perhaps Potter had disappeared, but suppose he did not do it alone? The only question was; what on earth could Potter and Snape be doing for three days in solitary?

At 1 am, on the outskirts of a tiny town in northern Wales, Harry Potter sat in an old leather chair by the fire of a small bedroom. The cottage was an old stone cut building that had existed for at least two hundred years, but the records had gone a bit skewed after that. There was a dresser close to him, potion bottles lined up in some sort of order, and a dosage chart partially filled out beside the bottles. A forgotten mug of tea that had long gone cold was on a small side table next to Harry's chair, and there was a stack of papers haphazardly arranged in his lap, fallen out of order when Harry had drifted off to sleep. He looked uneasy in his sleep, mouth furrowed in a frown, arms drawn protectively around himself, bangs falling over his eyes to provide some sort of shelter. He shivered, the fire not quite keeping him warm enough in the midnight air.

Somewhere outside an owl hooted, and Harry shifted in his chair, dropping the parchment to the floor. His eyes slitted open briefly, before he pulled a knitted blanket over himself and slipped back off to sleep. He was completely oblivious to the dark eyes that were open for the first time in three days, studying him intensely from the bed not two feet away.

**August 5****th****, 1997**

It was four am, but Harry couldn't sleep. He kept fingering the letter and torn picture he'd found in Sirius' room. There was something strange about how the letter and picture had been treated, and the room as well. It seemed like whomever had ransacked the house had been looking for those two items. But why leave half the items? The baby version of himself shrieked silently in glee in the picture. His dad was there, but, who was taking the picture? His mother? No, his mother was missing from the picture. Whoever had taken the letter and half of picture had carefully torn the photo to not destroy the image of his mum. Someone else loved his mother enough to come back for the picture and the letter…someone who had access to Grimmauld place. Only the order members still had access, which narrowed down the list considerably. Lupin may have come back for it, but Harry reasoned that he wouldn't have destroyed Sirius' room. The only one callous enough to do that while looking for a photo of Lily would be Snape. The jinx at the front door was set to deter Snape, but all he had to do was say the word kill and the jinx would be undone.

Harry went back to his bag and dug through the sack that Hermione had packed. Sure enough, in the bag of books Hermione had thought necessary to bring, Harry found the Half Blood Prince's potions book. He'd gone back to retrieve it before Dumbledore's funeral, begrudgingly admitting that despite the owner, the book would be useful. He flipped through absently, wondering if he'd find any mention of his mother. He didn't find any, but noted that the writing style, in particular some letters, seemed to mimic the style of Lily's. Could Snape have been trying to imitate her writing?

At five am Harry decided that he had no other explanation for the search of the house. He pulled out a piece of parchment, flipped through the book to a certain recipe, and began to write.

**August 10****th**

Spinner's End was in disarray, but Snape couldn't bring himself to care that much. He'd banished the alcohol from the house, because he was at the point of the game that required his upmost diligence. He cursed Albus for the four thousandth time. How does one ask someone to kill their mentor and only friend? His musings were interrupted by a soft tapping at the window. It was dusk, the sun burning low in the sky, and a tiny black owl was outside the door. General post; he recognized the owl's tag from London. Feeling slightly wary, he retrieved the envelope and stared at the name on it. Professor S. Snape, Potions Master. Usually he only received potion requests when letters were titled that way. Testing the letter, he found the magic not dark at all, but instead rather powerful and very familiar.

_Snape,_

_What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?_

_Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?_

_What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?_

_I have questions regarding the family and history of the asphodel. I await your reply._

_Regards,_

_H. Prince._

Snape stared at it. Maybe he would need to rethink his no-alcohol policy. After reading the letter twice, and studying the curves of the writing, he could not deny the author. He'd read many essays and lines from Potter in the six years he'd taught him, and he would never forget the unfair demands he'd made on him their first class. Indeed, he'd placed the memory in a pensieve long ago and was able to re-play the scene like a Muggle movie. As for the family of the asphodel, he shuddered at that demand. Potter had only seen his memory after the O.W.L. exams, but perhaps he'd put that together with the destruction of Grimmauld place and figured out that Snape had cared for Lily Potter. Asphodel, of the lily family. The boy had actually learned something.

He put the letter down on his desk and reached for the jar of ink, his lips curled in distaste at the signature. Though he knew that Potter couldn't sign his own name, using Prince was just downright mocking. Summoning a dark cold bottle from the fridge, he twisted open the cap and inhaled the sweet lingering scent of vanilla before taking a sip and beginning to write.

**August 15****th**

_Prince,_

_Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. _

_Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's rude to not address your elders with respect?_

_Professor S. Snape._

The letter was burning with sarcasm, and Harry was beyond angry. He was seething, and part of the anger was directed at himself for being baited. The word for word answer had been supplied, and there was no question that Snape knew whom he was corresponding with. Harry took a few calming breaths and sat down to write again, determined to get some concrete answers even if it killed him.

**September 5****th**

_Snape,_

_My mother would have taught me that respect needs to be earned. A slight conundrum has come upon my household. How does one effectively kill a calochortus Albus? I need a quick and merciless method._

_H. Prince. _

It was well past midnight, and Snape had read the letter over thirteen times during the day. It was harsh, cut straight to the point, and Snape admired Potter's nerve. Perhaps over the summer the boy had matured a little. And of course, he'd demand to know about Albus. Three months dead and still overlording Snape's life. And he still demanded, through that infernal portrait in the headmaster's office, that Snape not only protect the students and Potter from the side lines, but that he tell the brat that he needed to die. Just how on earth did the old man expect that conversation to go?

"Evening Harry. Yes, I called you Harry. It's important. Congratulations on your dim-witted mind carrying you through survival up until now, the Wizarding world is impressed. But now you need to die by his hands, and it'll finally be over. Run along now."

Snape had said it aloud, and some how that made the ridiculousness of the situation worse. He glanced at his small sideboard, and cursed the no-alcohol rule. Looking around he took note of what little personal possessions he had, in his lonely and dark living room. He'd taken over the headmaster assigned quarters, but they still felt cold, like his dungeons.

"Sod it." It felt good to say, and he did not have any portraits in his flat to over hear him.

"Sod it! And you can sod off too, Dumbledore, you insufferable know it all!" The fire roared as Snape threw the letter in and he felt better, warmer. Actually, he contemplated, cutting off Albus wasn't a bad idea. Dumbledore was stuck in a portrait, and was limited in his amount of scheming. He had no idea that Potter was corresponding with him, and Snape could think of a million reasons not to share that tidbit of information. But for now, he had a letter to write, to the only other man who had been as badly manipulated and controlled in this war as he had. Perhaps he had someone else to share the burden now, as loathe as he wanted to conceed to Potter's acquaintance.

**September 7****th**

_Prince (though from your behaviour, you are ill befitting of one),_

_If you are looking for a quick and merciless method, I am more than willing to demonstrate. It would bring me an amount of joy that no normal Euphoria Elixir could replicate._

Harry stared at the paper in bewilderment. It was a long sheet of parchment, but there was nothing else written. No signature, nothing. Almost as if Snape had dropped off mid sentence, but if he had, the letter would not have been sent off. He tapped the paper with his wand, feeling magic within it. He dug through his bag for Hermione's revealer, but found nothing when he rubbed it across the parchment. But he was sure there was more there, something hidden. He tried pointing at the paper with his wand, growling in a dark voice for it to reveal its secrets. To his chagrin, much like when Snape had done the same to his Maurader's map, the parchment started insulting him. On the right track at least, Harry scowled. What on earth could Snape have used as a password?

It took him four and a half days to work it out, after rereading the Half Blood Prince's potion book and noting that peppermint had been hastily scribbled beside the published recipe of the Elixir of Euphoria. He tapped his wand in desperation and said peppermint, ink starting to snake out across the page as Harry began cursing Snape with his very soul. The rest of the letter appeared, and Harry felt a low pain in his stomach, and the sudden urge to vomit.

_You were there, Potter. Did he suffer? Was he in pain? Did I draw it out? _

_Did he beg for my mercy? or did he ask for it?_

_How long has he been in control of your life?_

The words were almost carved into the paper, and Harry felt the anger radiating off them. Mercy, Harry could barely remember mercy. He hadn't thought much that night, but remembered afterwards how strange it was that Dumbledore's only words were "Severus, please." It was a pleading tone, not a begging one. It was a request to do something, not prevent it. It sounded almost as if Dumbledore had asked…

Harry ran to the bathroom and threw up. He didn't sleep for two days.

**September 16****th**

_Snape,_

_Found a way to rid the plant. Useful for a potion now, if I understand the properties correctly._

_Prince_

He unrolled the rest of the scroll and tapped his wand thoughtfully on the parchment. On the fourth try the text appeared.

_Almost as long as he controlled yours. Is his portrait in the office now? Tell him that the next time I see him, the state of his office after Sirius died will seem like tasteful decorating in comparison._

Snape set the letter alight with a candle and went to dinner. The great hall was quieter than normal, and there was a distinct feeling of depression throughout it. When he returned back upstairs, he'd had a lot of time to think about bloody Potter and the insignificant details of this major plan that Albus had carelessly let him know about. Potter had sounded resigned in his letter, as if he knew that he was merely an entity set to fulfill a role, and nothing more. Snape had known that Harry wouldn't return to school, and he had an idea, from watching the Dark Lord gloat all those years, as to what Potter might need to do. How Albus expected a group of seventeen year olds to complete said task, however, was beyond him.

He entered his office, set up silencing charms, and turned to face the portrait of Dumbledore. Fury burned in his eyes, and Dumbledore looked on with mild shock. Snape spoke through clenched teeth.

"What have you done?"

"Severus? What are you talking about?"

"Two weeks ago Potter, Weasley, and Granger were nearly caught at the Ministry, only escaping after being attacked by Umbridge. What exactly were they doing there?"

Snape was leaning calmly against the desk, but his arms were crossed tight and his face was blank, the only fury showing in his eyes. Dumbledore should have been taken aback.

"I'm not sure my boy. I'm limited to the portraits here." He shrugged his shoulders slightly, as if Harry almost getting caught was not a big worry.

"This is related to your little plan, isn't it? The one you refuse to tell me about?" Snape's voice had not changed, it was still very cold and very low. Dumbledore sat forward and narrowed his own eyes over his glasses.

"It is still wise, given your position, not to endanger you further with those details. If Voldemort were to break your shields..."

"He will not." Snape hissed. "I do not understand how you can blindly expect Potter to follow along with your foolish ideas when even he knows that they may get him killed. Would it not be more sensible to have others help with these tasks, so Potter actually lives to kill the Dark Lord?"

Dumbledore looked wary, though condescending at the same time, as if Snape were a child he needed to speak to.

"I don't expect you to understand, Severus. Harry understands what needs to be done right now; he will not let himself fail."

Dumbledore sounded very sure of himself, as if he had just fixed the world with a lemon sherbert. Snape growled a little, waving his wand and canceling the silencing charms. He stalked away to his personal library, leaving Dumbledore to wonder what had ended the conversation so fast.

**October 1****st**

Harry unrolled the parchment to find it completely blank. He took a chance and tapped the parchment, using the password from the last time. Nothing. Cursing in annoyance, he pulled the potion book out again to look for any sort of clues, looking to see if there was an invisibility potion that was marked. Nothing. With a growl, he flipped the book over and stared at the inner cover.

Poking the paper with his wand, he ground out in annoyance. "This belongs to the Half Blood Prince." A sentence appeared, and Harry let out his breath. "The great big prat."

_Message delivered, on my own terms. Horcruxes?_

The ink was nearly carved into the parchment. Harry summoned his own fresh piece and wrote one word back, charming it heavily with another password. _Yes._

**November 13****th**

Snape made sure to read the newspaper every day, looking for news of Potter. He purposefully did not write very often, as it would be too easy for someone to track the man. The boy. No, Potter was no longer a boy. He'd gotten a bit more information from Dumbledore, and snarled when the old fool had accused him of caring for Potter's welfare. Potter's message hadn't exactly been delivered, instead Snape had spent almost a whole hour seething to Dumbledore about how foolish it was to entrust an obviously essential secret mission to three seventeen year olds and expect their blind compliance with the task. He didn't go into detail, as he was not supposed to know about it. Dumbledore, as per usual, had completely missed the point, driving Snape from his office in anger. His parting words had caused Snape to smash four windows before calling a house elf.

"He'll be fine, Severus, Harry's been a survivor all his life, just like you have been."

And so, when Snape had finished securing the box together, tying it to the grey owl he had borrowed from Hogsmeade general post, he assured himself that this was not a care package for Potter. It was merely a box of supplies to ensure that the little morons could finish their little game for the war. He was sending it because of his promise to Lily's memory. He was definitely not sending it because he felt sorry for the man, or felt sympathy that his only real value seemed to be as a weapon. And he was definitely not sending it because he cared about his welfare.

**November 15****th**

Harry found the owl and the unmarked box hidden away from the edge of the campsite. He opened the box, surprised to find a basic first aid kit, some books on wizard traveling, a well-worn volume on occlumency, and a very detailed map of England. Under the study material was a wrapped basket of food, still warm under a heating charm. Harry smiled, and it didn't fade when he read the note that fell out of the occlumency book. "To aide in the sheer dumb luck that surrounds your survival."

**December 25****th**

Snape woke at 5 am, preferring to have the mornings to himself before anyone else was conscious. It was the only part of the day that he owned anymore. Christmas in the castle was nearly empty, as most families had opted to take their children home. That was fine by him, as Christmas had never been happy in his house and Snape was all too happy to forget the whole day. He briefly remembered how Dumbledore had mentioned Harry having his first Christmas ever at Hogwarts, just as he had done when he was eleven. For all his hatred towards the boy, it seemed that Potter had had a similar childhood to his own.

Snape was startled momentarily out of his thoughts by the brilliant stag patronus that had entered his bedroom, and then panic set in. He knew exactly whom that patronus belonged to, and the panic did not recede as the message was spoken.

"You threw a jar of cockroaches at my head. Bitten by snake." The voice was a hoarse whisper, and the stag dropped the pinecone that was in its mouth. Snape jumped into action, grabbing his personal potions bag and some basic medical supplies before picking up the pinecone. He briefly congratulated Potter on remembering to provide a security statement. The stag nodded once, and Snape felt the tug of the portkey.

He arrived outside a tent in a cold field, finding Potter slouched in a chair by the door. Potter jumped a little upon seeing Snape, and then with an unfamiliar wand quickly silenced the area that they were in, so no sound reached inside the tent. The wand remained pointed at Snape, who thought for a moment and then spoke.

"You stunned me in the Shrieking Shack."

Harry nodded, and then held out his arm. Snape drew in his breath at the sight. Potter was very very pale, and the wounds, though wrapped, were still bleeding. He kneeled down beside the chair and began his observation, turning Harry's arm over.

"Nagini?"

A nod. Potter was watching him with intense green eyes, and said nothing when Snape handed him a vial. Harry uncorked it, and immediately swallowed, trying his best not to grimace.

"That could have been poison." Snape was slightly taken back by Potter's trust. He received another stare, and then a slight grunt.

"Could have. But it wasn't." There was bitter amusement in Potter's voice, as if he wouldn't mind being poisoned. Snape wondered, not for the first time, if Dumbledore knew his golden boy's breaking point.

Snape continued tending to the bite, ordering Harry to take a blood replenishing potion from the bag. After it was wrapped, he fished another bottle out of his robe pocket, identical to the first one that Harry had drank.

"It's antidote, for that blasted snake. You must always have it with you. And this, the blood replenishing potion. You can shrink them both without damage."

Snape stood up, assessing Potter's condition. Colour was slowly returning to his face, though he looked as undernourished as he had in his first year. Lines crowded his eyes, and he looked much older than seventeen. But he was alive.

"Thank you."

Two simple words that Snape wasn't expecting. He narrowed his eyes.

"There's no need for thanks." Snape packed up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Time to leave before his absence was noted. Potter rose, steadier on his feet than when Snape had first seen him.

"No?" He said, with a bitter laugh. "I think you've done more to keep me alive than Dumbledore has."

Potter offered his hand, and Snape unexplicably shook it, before disapparating back to Hogwarts, deep in thought and craving a cold root beer to still his nerves.

**January 9****th, **** 1998**

At the morning breakfast table there was the same sickening silence as usual, as the students tried to be as unnoticeable from the Carrow siblings as possible. All except for the Slytherins, whom Snape was steadfastly ignoring. A ruffled brown owl appeared at the head table with the morning mail, and Snape snatched the letter and small plain parcel before anyone could see the writing on it. He opened it, and noted that there was only a few words. "Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act." A quote from somewhere, written in Harry's tidy hand. He pondered the meaning while sipping his tea, bearing his teeth in a scowl when one of the Carrows had the nerve to ask what the letter was about. The package was placed in his pocket until he could open it in private.

Later that evening, Snape retired to his quarters and sat in his bath, candles floating about the room, a cold bottle on the edge of the tub next to him. On the counter was the parcel, opened and the items catalogued. A letter, a tape, and some ridiculous thing called a recorder. The letter had unnerved him more than the recorder had, and he was glad to have opened it in the bathroom. Sometimes that was the only private place in Hogwarts, it seemed. Not even the ghosts dared enter there.

He finished the root beer and closed his eyes. Potter had sent him a birthday gift. It didn't say that anywhere in the letter, but he'd be a fool not to know that Potter had meant it as such. Explanations of how to get to the Chamber of Secrets, and a recording of Potter speaking parseltongue, just so Snape could get the priceless basilisk ingredients he needed for his post cruciatus potion. It was an extremely thoughtful and personal gift, and it made Snape rather uncomfortable. It spoke of forgiveness.

"You can't forgive me, Potter. Not for this."

It was reassurance spoken only to himself, and he idly transfigured the bottle into a green coloured potion vial, yet another for his collection. Snape then rose out of the bath and gathered the items, locking them securely away in his bedroom. It was only eleven thirty, but he crawled into bed anyway, knowing that he wouldn't get any sleep tonight no matter what time he had retired. Instead, he laid back in bed and looked out on the cold, starless sky, wondering where Harry was camping. This would be Harry's last January 9th, and probably his too. He'd been there for Harry's last Christmas. Snape rolled over and shut his eyes, refusing to flinch at the feelings of guilt that crashed over him for the first time in years.

**February 4****th**

_Gratitude is an appropriate sentiment to extend to you._

There was no name, no signature, and no greeting. But the message was understood all the same, and Harry folded the parchment away, to hide in his bag. It had been worth the almost month long wait to hear that. He allowed a small smile on his face for the first time in many days.

**February 18****th**

It was four am and a tiny scops owl was beating against Snape's window, tempting fate and the business end of Snape's wand. Instead of hexing it however, Snape snatched the flittering bird from the window and struggled in a fading sleepy haze to remove the parchment.

_There's more to this, isn't there? Something you're not allowed to tell me yet?_

Snape stared at the letter and shook his head, glad he had had nothing to drink the night before. He walked out to the study to search for a quill, keeping the annoying owl in his bedroom. Looking up behind the desk, he saw that Dumbledore was sleeping peacefully in his portrait. A string of curse words was released under his breath as he sat down and stared at the letter. How had Potter figured it out? He'd given nothing away, not even when he'd gone to heal the snake bite. He quickly searched through his memories, but came up blank. They'd only seen each other the one time since last ..since the tower. But then again, Potter had been manipulated and lead on by Dumbledore before. He specifically remembered Potter's fifth year, when Dumbledore had foolishly ignored the boy, sending him spiraling into a depression that had cost the life of Sirius Black. He smirked for a moment, remember the destruction Potter had wrought to the Headmaster's office, something he had secretly admired.

Sighing, Snape summoned his favourite black cloak, fingering one of the many buttons along the front. He chose one very near the top at the neck, and quickly severed it. Writing a quick note, Snape sealed the envelope well and sent the bird back out into the early morning, watching it skitter through the air like a demented ferret. Four thirty am. He'd lie back in bed, but he knew it was futile to try sleep anymore.

**February 22****nd**

Three bloody days it had taken Harry to open the security charms on the envelope Snape had sent, and he had been more than a little frustrated. All he got for his troubles was a short note, and a little round black button. The button appeared to be finished in a fine silk, and it had a very small S imprinted on it, in a different shade of black. Harry suddenly recognized it. He read the note carefully, putting the button in the same safe pocket as the two potion vials.

_Prince,_

_You need to find me when the final curtain is about to close. The fourth act has been badly written as well._

_S._

A bad feeling sunk to the bottom of Harry's stomach, one that he could not alleviate in the slightest by a mug of hot tea. Exactly what else had Dumbledore planned for him? If the fourth act was badly written, as Snape said, perhaps it was something Harry didn't want warning about. Harry had the sinking feeling, however, that Snape had been burdened with this end knowledge for a while. Harry sunk into an uneasy rest, contemplating again just how short his life would probably be.

**May 2****nd****, 1998**

"I regret it," said Voldemort coldly.

Harry felt the blood pounding through his ears, and as he scrambled to silently get into the room, he felt his heart slow almost to a dead stop.


	2. Ch 2 Another Morning to Wake

AN - Thanks for the reviews. :) As we have only really seen the evil spy side of Snape in canon, I have added some quirks to try to make him more human. Not sure if they work, but I enjoy them.

Chapter Two - Another Morning to Wake

As soon as Voldemort had turned, Harry had groped in his pockets for the shrunken potion bottles that he'd carried with him since Christmas day. With silent wand movements he lifted the crate and moved towards Snape. Recognition burned in Snape's eyes as Harry reached him, and Harry wordlessly enlarged the potion bottles. He leant over Snape as Hermione backed away, bottling the memories that Snape had released. With his own hair and back obscuring Hermione's vision, Harry quickly poured three potions down Snape's throat. The anti venom, the blood replenishing potion, and an improved Draught of the Living Death potion that he'd found the recipe for in the Half Blood Prince's book. Hermione started calling Harry's name as Harry silently closed the wounds on Snape's neck. The draught made Snape look dead, but Harry hoped the modified recipe had worked and that Snape was in a fully suspended state. As he went to leave, Harry squeezed Snape's hand once more and whispered, "I'll be back."

It was five hours later when Harry found him again. A whole lifetime, countless deaths, his own life over and started again, and Potter came back for Snape. He'd worked methodically, using Snape's own wand to breach the wards on the potions stores, shrinking and taking as many as he possibly could. He'd have taken the whole storage room if he had been able. He knew that there were probably better potions in Snape's quarters, but he would ask later. Time was of the essence, and his friends thought he'd be sleeping for only a few hours. As a last thought, he grabbed the worn and earmarked potions journal that lay hidden under the third shelf's storage of memory potions, and fled back to the Shrieking Shack. Taking great care to be as gentle as possible, Harry softly sat Snape up in his arms, and taking a deep breath, apparated them both.

**May 5th, 1998**

There was a cool morning breeze coming through the bedroom window, and somewhere in the distance Snape could hear children shrieking. Potter was still scrunched up in the chair, the blanket only half covering him now. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Snape moved his head a small bit about to take in the room, and was blinded by the pain that wracked his body. He let out a small hiss and gasped at the sound. The snake. He remembered now. He'd been bitten by the bloody snake. He opened his eyes again, and bearing the pain, looked around.

On the dresser beside him lay a small army of potion bottles, lined up in some sort of order, and labeled precisely. He could see the health monitors, charmed to the changes of his body, sitting beside the potion bottles. A potion journal sat next to the bottles.

"Potter." It came out as a rasp, and he was disappointed that his normal demanding tone was missing. It worked nonetheless; as the man in the recliner nearly jumped out of his skin and dropped the blanket from his lap.

"You're awake! Merlin. Thank god." He stood and walked quickly over to Snape, casting a diagnosis spell as he went. Snape watched, glaring hard but not wanting to move enough to cause more pain than necessary.

"Redundant in both Wizard and Muggle speak, how surprising." He'd meant to sound nasty, but couldn't achieve the same malice that had been in his voice before. Potter had the nerve to laugh.

"I'm glad to hear your voice again. I thought I never would."

Was that relief in Potter's voice? He knew that sometime over the year that they'd been away that Potter had forgiven him, but caring and forgiveness were two very different things.

"Never mind that. What day is it, and is that psychopath gone?" There was a demanding tone in Snape's voice that overrode any hint of the confusion he felt regarding his current location.

"It's May fifth. You've been in a coma for three days, and yes, he is gone."

There was a visible sigh of relief from Snape as he seemingly exhaled twenty years of tension in one breath. Harry stood and walked towards the bed, holding his hand up to stop Snape from starting an interrogation.

"I'll answer your questions later, sir, you should probably eat now though."

Snape glared at him, but relented. Information was a powerful bartering chip, and he didn't have much on his side to play with. Then again, if all he needed to do was be patient and eat food, the odds were in his favour to begin with. After the diagnosis spell was done Snape watched as Harry first made notes in his papers, and then left the room, saying he'd be back in a few minutes. A few minutes turned to fifteen, and Snape's curiosity got the better of him.

He'd recognized the journal now; it was his personal potions journal with all of his notes. He'd scathingly lay into Potter later about privacy. For the moment though, the notes were well within reach of the bed, and Snape grabbed them. He was surprised at what he'd found. He'd tested the anti-venom before on animals, but Potter had taken very detailed notes of reactions, timing, and results on Snape's own progress. His pain-induced hazy suspicions were correct; Potter had shoved the antidote down his throat after Snape had been bitten. And from the looks of the parchment, Potter had been steadily monitoring and administering nutrient potions for the past three days in order to help heal him.

A noise sounded as Harry walked through the door, and Snape looked up unashamed from the notes.

"What were you thinking? Why would you save me, Potter?"

Harry sat the tray down on the table, and not thirty seconds later Snape was assaulted with the smell of hot cinnamon and brown sugar combining together with the oatmeal.

"I have my reasons." He looked uneasy, and Snape watched him carefully. It wasn't a mistruth, but Potter was definitely avoiding something. He watched very carefully as Harry passed a bowl of oatmeal onto the side table beside him, and placed a glass of orange juice next to the bowl. When Harry turned around to put his food by his chair, Snape's ears picked up on a whispered "Dumbledore." Harry's hands trembled by his side before he looked back up and regrouped himself.

"You need to sit up to eat. How much does it hurt?"

Snape considered this, and tested his feet. No pain. His arms moved, and there was only a little pain. His head, on the other hand, sent spasms of pain down his body. He begrudgingly told Harry this, in an even and medical tone. Harry reached through jars on the desk and finally opened one that looked familiar.

"It's yours. A numbing and healing salve. I went through your potion stores to get what I thought you'd needed, because…" He trailed off and Snape grunted in agreement. He didn't trust potions of others either, and so decided to disregard Potter's careless plundering of his storeroom for the time being.

"My neck is the worse; you may apply it to the bite." Snape hesitated. "Carefully, Potter." The underlying threat was left unsaid. Snape held very still through the pain and had to admit to himself that Potter had actually been gentle with his hands, as he had carefully applied enough salve that the numbing agent worked quickly. He moved his head again gingerly, and was relieved to find the ache gone. He kept his features carefully blank though, watching to see what the other man would do next.

Potter then moved slowly back toward the bed, and leant in to sit Snape up, informing him as he did so. Snape suddenly got the impression that the entire time he'd been unconscious, Potter had been keeping him informed of everything he'd needed to do. Somehow, the thought relaxed him.

Once sitting up, Snape found that the oatmeal was delicious, and that he was starved. Harry smiled softly in amusement, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Snape noticed how forced the smile was, but chose to bring it up later. For now, he had more questions.

"Where am I?"

"My cottage, Cairn Hollow. Outside of a small town in Wales."

"You own this house? I thought you were only left Grimmauld Place." Snape's tone was as non-accusatory as he could make it, but Harry took offense anyway.

"No. I bought this place, it's mine. Don't sound so damn surprised that the great Harry Potter wants to buy his own things."

Snape gingerly held up a hand, a headache already forming.

"I merely had not considered you wished a different dwelling than the one in London. When did you buy this cottage? And under what name?"

Harry took a calming breath before answering.

"In February. I thought that if I survived, I'd want to start my own life, not one chosen for me. And the first step was to choose my own home. The name... is a business name."

This made an immense amount of sense to Snape, and he looked around the room, taking in more of the details. It was a small room, compared to one of a manor house, but this appeared to be a stone cottage and Harry had made it quite comfortable.

"It's appropriate. The furnishings are fitting." That was as close of a compliment as he was going to give today, and Harry's small snort told Snape that he'd read into it correctly. Snape also knew that the unmentioned business name would remain a secret for the time being.

"Why am I here?"

Harry shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.

"It's not safe for you out there."

"How? How did you do it?" _And why did you not die?_ was the unasked question.

Harry studied him carefully before answering.

"Have you heard of the Deathly Hallows?" he asked, before Snape nodded. Harry took a deep breath and then continued, "It's real. Dumbledore had the wand, and Voldemort tried to kill you, to gain ownership over the wand." His voice had turned to monotone, and Snape listened intently.

"But Malfoy had overtaken Dumbledore in the Astronomy Tower, moments before you, er, carried out your duty." There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Anyway, last March I had stolen Draco Malfoy's wand at Malfoy Manor. We all met again in the Great Hall, the war was waging on, and I challenged Voldemort. Told him I had the power of love, told him I knew of the Elder wand."

There was a smile now, but it was anything but real.

"Told him that he never had you. That you were ours. He tried the killing curse on me again." The smile broke. "I used a basic expelliarmus, like you taught us in second year, and it worked- the wand acknowledged me. I didn't send the killing curse."

Snape knew that Harry was looking for redemption, but found himself unable to do anything but nod. This young man, for he'd not been a child in a very long time, had faced the one person who Snape truly loathed and feared.

"I believe you." Snape finally said.

Relief temporarily washed over Harry, but it drained very fast.

"Yeah well. It was Dumbledore's speech, not mine. The whole power of love stuff."

Harry's eyes fell to his bowl, and he continued eating his oatmeal. Ten minutes of silence easily passed, Harry trying not to reply events in his mind, and Snape pondering how to put the images of that night together.

"You met again in the Great Hall?"

Harry looked up, and Snape saw something indefinable in his eyes.

"We first met in the Forbidden Forest. After I saw your memories, I knew what Dumbledore needed done. He played me well."

The flash again, and Snape caught it this time. Anger.

"He knew I would do it. I walked out there to die, and I did."

Harry's voice whispered an excuse as he quickly left the room. Suddenly, it was very quiet, the juice warm, the sun in the windows annoyingly bright and obnoxious. And Snape knew in that moment how much it felt to have his mind shatter.

…..

He had slept on and off during the day, still weak from his body expelling the snake poison. Harry finally entered his room at six thirty in the evening, waking Snape up with the smell of beef broth. He put the tray of food on the dresser and moved over to the bed, looking rather awkward. Apparently his feet were rather interesting.

"What, Potter?"

"Do you need help sitting up?"

Snape studied him, noting that Potter's embarrassment was partially for him, for the fact that he was still weak.

"That would be appreciated." He thought the words would be harder to say. Harry helped him sit up against a stack of pillows, passing one bowl of soup over before sitting back in the chair by the fire with the other bowl.

"So starved for comfort that you're willing to endure my dinner company?" Snape's tone was harsh, but not as hard as it had been at school. Potter merely shrugged.

"It's been a rough three days."

"No golden trio to help babysit the greasy git?" His gaze was over Harry's shoulder, glancing out the window. Wales was a bit warmer than Hogsmeade. He was caught off guard by Potter's laugh.

"You're easier to handle when you're unconscious."

"Hmph."

The soup was good, and eaten in relative silence. Snape noted that there was no sign of a house elf's presence anywhere, and Harry noticed how Snape seemed to have lost a bit of whatever was making his body so tense.

"The quiet is nice." Snape commented blandly, putting his bowl on the table. Harry eyed him, wondering what he was digging at.

"There's no one else here."

"Obviously. And when will Lord Potter be kicking me out of his humble abode?"

"I'm not. This is a safe house."

Arms suddenly crossed and Harry steeled himself.

"And what, Mr. Potter, makes you think I am in need of a safe house?"

"I have my reasons. What makes you think I don't need one?"

Snape scoffed at Harry.

"The Boy Who Destroyed Voldemort needs protection? From what?"

A scowl set across Harry's jaw, and for the first time since he'd awoken, Snape saw pain flash through Harry's eyes. It didn't give him a sense of triumph as it used to, this Potter seemed to be older, less easy to provoke, and rather…wary. Yes, wary was the right word.

Harry's hand then flew up in the air and Snape thought for a fleeting moment that the man was going to strike him. But he merely summoned the Daily Prophet, quite a few of them, and dumped them on Snape's bed.

"Self preservation." Harry grit out between his teeth. "And you have no where else to go. There's an Order meeting tomorrow morning, be ready to leave at nine." He stomped out of the room, leaving Snape to sift through three days of thick morning and evening paper. The dinner dishes lay forgotten.

…..

_It had to be the Granger girl_. It was late, the room smelt like ink and whiskey, and he was staring out over London in the general direction of the Black ancestral home. If Harry Potter was living in a fidelius protected house, it had to be Hermione Granger that he'd choose to be the secret keeper. The red haired boy may be his best friend, but he didn't appear to be the brightest. No matter. The girl shouldn't be too hard to follow; he'd certainly had to do worse for lesser stories, and with his editor breathing down his neck, he'd better come up with something soon. Tomorrow, he decided, draining his whiskey glass, he'd put a tracking charm on that girl and by the end of the day, Potter and the exclusive story would be his. Perhaps even Snape too, if his theory was correct.

….

They hadn't spoken to each other for the rest of the night. The cottage was as quiet as it always was, but when Snape finally snapped out of his restless sleep, he realized that it was an eerie silence. A magicked one. He felt immediately uneasy, and reached by instinct under his pillow. He had been very surprised to find his wand there, thinking that Potter would have withheld it. One did not house their enemy and arm them, for Merlin's sake. Either the man was as dumb as he appeared all along or… Snape didn't want to think about the or. He refused to think about the forgiveness word. Trust was not in his vocabulary.

Curiosity was, however, and with bare feet he silently made his way to the bedroom door, stopping to listen before entering the hallway. Absolutely no noise, at three thirty in the morning. It was unnerving, that he couldn't even hear sounds of sleep from the room across the hall from his. A quiet Potter, even in sleep, was never a good thing. He slowly pushed the door open, startling a little at the sight. Either Potter was intent on murdering his bed linen, or he had taken the definition of night terror to a whole new level. The silence of it unnerved Snape more than anything, so he quickly cancelled the silencing spell. Flinching at the hoarse yells, Snape strode purposefully over to the side of the bed. He cast the brightest lumos he could, and hesitantly reached over to wake Potter.

"POTTER!"

His brief pondering on whether to shake the man was answered when he lost feeling in his arm due to a well-placed punch. Enough was enough. Pointing his wand, he muttered a quick aguamenti and sprayed Harry in the face with water. Sputtering as he woke, Harry went from terrified to angry when he surmised what had happened. Snape merely smirked, and as an afterthought cast a warming charm.

"Pleasant dreams, Mr. Potter."

He strode out of the room, pretending not to hear the "sod off!" response. It was a full moon, and he climbed back into the warm bed, ignoring the view. The weather was pleasant, warm and calm. The peacefulness around the cottage irritated him, but not as much as the memories in his mind. Morning could not come soon enough.

….

"I'm going to town after the meeting. Make a list of anything you want."

Harry was standing at the stove when Snape arrived, flipping something in a pan that smelled of warm bread, cinnamon, and sugar. It looked delicious, and entirely too childish for Snape's own taste. He moved to the counter instead, setting the kettle to boil and preparing a mug of tea for himself. He paused, and looked over to the stack of French toast by the stove.

"There is enough water for two, I suppose."

Potter nodded thanks towards the tea mugs. They sat and ate breakfast in silence, Snape reading through the Daily Prophet again so Potter couldn't see how much he'd begrudgingly enjoyed the French toast. He couldn't remember the last time breakfast had not been yet another chore. He watched as Potter began writing a short to do list for himself, and a thought occurred to Snape.

"You must be stupid if you think I'm going to ask you for favours, Potter."

To his annoyance, Potter smirked.

"Ah, there's the professor. Not up to par until you've had tea then?"

There was a butter knife within easy reach. Snape could summon it faster than reaching for it, and he was certain he'd read about successful butter knife murders.

"Perhaps had I not been kept awake by someone…"

"No."

Potter's voice was very firm, and there was no mirth in his eyes at all. It surprised Snape for a second, before he schooled his features again into his blank calculating look.

"Fine. Where is the meeting being held?" The change of topic seemed to lighten the air in the room a bit.

"The Burrow." Harry stood and collected the plates, moving back to the sink. "Minerva is expecting you. After the meeting it's Fred's funeral."

Snape took a long sip of tea, ignoring the burning feeling he felt at the back of his throat. Regardless of what he thought of the Weasley menaces, losing one's twin must be devastating. Potter's voice interrupted that thought.

"You don't need to stay for that. You can come back here after the meeting."

"And how do I get back here, Mr. Potter? It seems to be a little protected." Snape's tone was full of sarcasm.

"Second star to the left, and straight on till morning."

"I beg your pardon?"

Potter was grinning, and Snape was confused.

"It's from Peter Pan. Never mind." He handed Snape a heavy iron key that would fit an old 18th century wooden door. "It's the front door key. Hold it, think of the kitchen here, and disapparate. It'll bring you back."

"Hand out your keys to just anyone, Potter?"

"Just the really special ones. I spelled it with your wand while you were out cold. It only works for you." Harry crossed his arms and his eyes flashed mischievously.

"Touched, Potter. A momentary sign of life in that head of yours. Now, I believe we have a meeting to attend."

"Fine. Oh, and Snape? You don't live here, if anyone asks."

Frustratingly, Potter disappeared through the fire before Snape could take proper advantage of that opening.

….

Harry still couldn't land as gracefully in a fireplace as he wanted to, but Mrs. Weasley was understanding and waiting with a brush. Harry hastily swept the ash off his shoulders and stepped aside just in time for Snape to step through. Snape took the pro-offered brush and swiped twice, before following Mrs. Weasley and Harry into the kitchen. When they took their places, an uneasy silence had descended on the room.

It was fuller than the normal Order meetings, as the entire Weasley clan was seated around the table as well. Snape noted that the remaining twin sat very quietly, almost as if he were a machine that had been turned off. He gave a small nod to Minerva McGonagall, and then met the gazes of each other person briefly. He noted that more than half were looking at him with some sort of disdain or contempt.

"This will be a short meeting." Minerva had taken charge, and Snape decided it best to keep quiet for as long as he could.

"From what we can ascertain, fourteen Death Eaters escaped capture. Some, unfortunately, are still students of Hogwarts. The Ministry will be working with aurors to track them down, but they have asked for our help as well, as they are slightly understaffed. Kingsley will stop by later with more information regarding the missions."

She paused here to take a breath, and Snape watched Harry sneak over to the fridge to get some pumpkin juice. He supposed this had been the boy's second home in all his time growing up. He took a seat next to Granger, whom seemed to have become closer to the youngest Weasley male over the past year. Amazingly, both now appeared to be younger than Harry, though Snape could see that it was the lines under Harry's eyes that made him look like life had taken advantage of him.

Oddly, Snape saw the youngest Weasley was sat across from Potter, and that while they didn't seem to be avoiding one another, there definitely was not the same closeness between them as there had briefly been in Potter's sixth year. He wondered who had broken off their little tryst.

"Hogwarts will be closed for the remainder of the summer, opening back up in September for the new year. There will be a summer school available for students to take exams. We're looking for help in restoring the castle, but it shouldn't take more than two months. Mr. Potter,"

At this, Harry looked up with a guilty look on his face.

"There will be some funerals at Hogwarts, and also a monument to be dedicated. We'd like for you to give some speeches."

She glanced around the room without giving Potter a chance to say no, Snape noted. He looked resigned, though by looking at his feet the rest of the Order in the room hadn't noticed.

"Severus." Minerva's voice was soft and it sounded as if she was having difficulty choosing the right words to say. Snape fingered the key in his pocket, wondering how fast the portkey would take to activate. He could feel almost every set of eyes staring at him.

"Due to the death threats leveled against you and some of the Ministry's wishes to arrest you," Mrs. Weasley looked sheepish at this, "we think it best that you continue to stay where you are under fidelius, and use Harry here to communicate with the Order."

She paused, and Snape wondered how much she knew. Potter had only mentioned briefly that they thought he was staying at his own place and that Potter was the secret keeper.

"Harry has shown us the memories of Dumbledore. I can't speak for everyone, but I understand now. All, " she swallowed audibly "is forgiven."

There was silence in the room, and again those damn green eyes were staring at him. Snape nodded, and then cleared his throat. He hated attention, and it was time to divert it.

"Potter. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like my memories back once you're finished broadcasting them."

Minerva shook her head and a flush of red crept up Harry's neck. Snape was pleased he could still get under Potter's skin.

"It was necessary, _sir_." The sir was bitten out with the least amount of respect manageable. "Would you rather be staying in a cell right now?"

Snape stood and took the key out, holding it tightly in his palm. He gave a small upturn of his lips, narrowing his eyes only at Harry.

"A rose by any other name." His voice was silky and low toned, which his former students recognized as imminent danger.

"Minerva. It's been an experience. I will not be participating in any more hands on Order missions. Good day."

The portkey sounded like a millisecond's howl of wind, and left the kitchen quiet. The silence was broken a minute later by Harry's low growl.

"Bloody ungrateful shit."

There were a few snorts of laughter from Bill and Charlie, and an admonishment from Minerva.

"Language, Mr. Potter." This elicited more laughter and Harry's face flushed further. "I'll never understand why you agreed to be secret keeper for him."

The meeting started back up again, and Ron leaned over close to Harry.

"What's the git's house like anyway? A cave?"

Harry gave a short, nervous laugh.

…..

The meeting went on for another hour after Snape had left, a very quiet and private funeral was held, and then Harry had apparated to Cardiff to do some shopping. Snape took advantage of the time alone. He'd made his own shopping list, but was still unsure of the exact wards around the house. No point in testing those, incase he couldn't get back through. And he refused to think about why he was loath to leave the place. Instead, he wandered around the cottage, investigating Potter's home and trying to remember what the name of his blasted house elf was.

The front door had been an old wooden carved door as he'd suspected, and it opened into a small hallway. Worn wooden stairs led to the second floor, and just off to the right of the staircase was a small study, which Potter had filled with surprisingly decent books. The old teak desk in the room was fully supplied, and there was a small potbelly stove in the corner, that served as a heater.

To the left of the staircase, a little down the narrow hall, was the living room. It had old flagstone floors, a large fireplace that was connected to the Floo network, a small grey chesterfield and two large leather wingback chairs by the fire. There was an unopened chess set on a table near the back of the room, and a small TV beside it. The room was small, however there were large glass French doors that covered the side wall, where the flagstone followed out and led to the garden.

The kitchen covered the whole back of the house, and Snape found the room just as comfortable as the living room. Wooden floors as well, with well designed cupboard space, another large fireplace, and a large wooden table in the center of the room. Potter seemed to have embraced muggle technology, but he had chosen retro fitted furniture to suit the cottage's old charms. A small washroom lead off the front hall.

Snape climbed back up the stairs and found that it was as he had expected. Just the two modest bedrooms that were on either side of the tiny hallway, and a full bathroom at the end of the hall. He went back into his own room and decided to check out the gardens. Outside the sun baked the grass in the garden, earning his deepest scowl from the window. He felt miserable, and he knew exactly why. It was ridiculous, but then, withdrawal had never been easy. Snape thanked whatever gods had prevented an addiction to more serious substances, and waited for the foul creature of shame to settle over him, that he should be addicted to something so juvenile. Creature. Ah.

"KREACHER!"

It was a bellow that could be heard in Scotland, and a second later the little shriveled house elf appeared, a strange locket swinging madly from his neck.

"Kreacher is to be only serving Master Harry, Headmaster Snape." The elf looked defiant, and slightly curious. Snape merely rolled his eyes.

"What house is this, elf?"

"Cairn Hollow, Master Harry's secret house." Snape crossed his arms and nodded.

"And if I am here, Kreacher, then I am in on the secret, no?" His tone lacked the spite that Kreacher would recognize and despise. There was a pregnant pause and the elf eyed him with distrust.

"Kreacher will serve Headmaster, as well."

"Finally." Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes again and handed him the shopping list, and pressed that privacy was very important. The creature vanished with a silent pop, and by the time Harry had returned, he had no idea that more shopping had been done, nor that in the guest room upstairs, Snape sat with a cold glass bottle of root beer beside him, happy for the first time in a week.

…..

On Saturday, their breakfast was disturbed by the World's Most Demented Owl. It was not one Snape recognized, but Harry seemed to know it, by his affectionate greeting. As the little grey menace fluttered about the kitchen, Snape watched Harry's face flitter with emotion as he read the letter. Excitement, dread, and then annoyance.

"News from the adoring fans?" Snape drank his tea slowly, savouring the heavy earthy flavour.

"In a way." Harry sounded distant.

"You're a terrible liar, Potter. Spit it out."

Harry glared at him, but answered anyway.

"They want me to dedicate a memorial at the Ministry atrium today. From the Boy Who Lived to the fallen war heroes."

Snape snorted at this, but Harry stood up from the table and didn't rise to the bait.

"There are three different funerals today they want me to speak at, as well."

He shrugged slowly, and left the table. Snape sat back to enjoy the rest of his tea, filing away Potter's statement for thinking about later. He'd never known Potter to sound so unemotional about something, unless it had been about detention or schoolwork. Even then, Snape had usually managed to get a rise out of the boy. For now, however, he wanted to banish all thoughts of Potter, funerals, demented owls, and life in general while he took a long hot bath, and perhaps read a book. He'd have to remember to put a bottle of root beer in the fridge for later. It was odd to be looking forward to the day; Hogwarts had never been that relaxing.

Potter came back to the kitchen before he left and Snape almost didn't find it annoying that he'd come to say goodbye.

"The wards start at the stone wall, you can go in the garden. And there's a small lab down in the cellar. It's not fully stocked though."

With a sad smile, Harry disappeared. Snape stood with instant curiosity and headed toward the cellar door. Perhaps he'd put two bottles in the fridge today, and save the bath for later.

….

Harry returned home from the Ministry in the early evening and stormed about the kitchen. He slammed the fridge door closed after taking a drink out, and then started pulling bowls out and random ingredients from the cupboards.

Snape stalked down the stairs to curse Potter for making so much noise, and froze at the sight he saw in the kitchen. He'd forgotten to take his second drink out of the fridge, and Harry was now studying the bottle with curiosity. Snape resisted the urge to snatch his root beer away, but Harry just put it back in the fridge and went back to making whatever he'd set out to do when he'd started making such a racket.

"Bee in your bonnet, Potter?"

Harry smashed an egg and added it to the mix, whipping it rather strongly.

"One could say so, Snape."

"I believe I just did. I assume this temper isn't from speaking to war orphans."

Harry pointed to the kitchen chair with his spatula and wordlessly passed him the root beer from the fridge.

"I saw Fudge today. He somehow knows you're still alive, and he cornered me, demanding to know where I hid you. Of course, I can't answer, because I made someone else the secret keeper. "

Snape nodded, opening his bottle and enjoying the small curl of scented carbonated air that escaped.

"So then he says that there will be a trial, and I will be put on the stands. He's a prosecutor now." A splash of vanilla was added to whatever mixture was being made, and the oven was turned on.

"I talked to Kingsley after, and then I ended up breaking the windows in his office."

Snape snorted, and Harry's face blushed slightly.

"They've frozen your assets. Your house has been placed under an imperturbable charm, and Fudge has a warrant out for your arrest."

Snape exhaled slowly. Harry slammed a muffin tray on the counter, and began filling the little cups.

"Well Potter, since you're this annoyed to be stuck with me, I shall find my own place to stay."

The frozen assets would make it difficult, but perhaps Minerva could help him out. Snape wasn't surprised that he'd have to face trial, but Fudge's enthusiasm for persecution was a little disconcerting. He was startled when Harry whirled around and shook the spatula at him again, getting flecks of muffin batter on the table.

"You're staying here, you bloody martyr."

Snape concealed his surprise by crossing his arms.

"Potter, that makes you an accomplice, for your information. If you are as ignorant of the law as you are in other areas of education."

"I don't care, Snape. They're out for blood and I refuse to sacrifice you."

"How very Gryffindor of you, Potter. One might think you enjoy my company."

"Maybe I do."

Harry managed to smirk at this last bit before he shoved the muffins in the oven.

"Imagine that. Your father is surely turning in his grave."

Snape was watching Harry carefully, and noted how white his knuckles got when he clenched his fists.

"Leave him out of this. I am not him."

"Indeed, so you claim. Yet, you antagonize Draco Malfoy for being just like his father, and refuse to see any other side to him."

"I antagonize Malfoy because he's a bloody prat. I met him the first day I went into the Wizarding world, well before I met Lucius Malfoy. He was a childish arsehole, spouting off about purebloods and how only they deserved an education. He only switched sides to save his own skin."

Harry moved to stand beside the table, leaning over a chair towards Snape in an accusatory stance.

"You can't tell me that you didn't like him because of who his father was."

Snape crossed his arms with a menacing look. His response was gritted out.

"Both Malfoys are insolent little socialite twerps and I have never liked them. You, Potter, are also just as arrogant as your father was."

"No, I'm NOT!" Harry's outburst was more out of frustration than anger. "Compare this, Snape! You judge me to be just like my father, in my mannerisms and personality. I have one memory of him, of the night Voldemort killed him. So by your logic, that one memory is enough to make me just as insufferable as he was."

"What are you getting at, Potter?" Snape's glare was fixed solidly on Harry, as if he were about to hex him.

"You! I have known for seven years to be a nasty, vindictive, cunning, and brutal person with very little regard for the well-being and mental state of others. I've seen a minute's memory of Tobias Snape acting the same way, so, by your logic, you're exactly like _your_ father."

Looking back, Harry noted that he had woefully underestimated Snape's reaction. He had not predicted how fast the older man would lunge across the table, nor how much the blow across the face would hurt. But he did remember that it had only taken three seconds before the real brawl had begun.

The kitchen chairs had been flung aside as Harry was slammed to the stone floor, a sickening crack as his head hit the hard surface. He heard a whoosh of air exhaled from Snape as the latter landed, and then it was a rough struggle of fists and kicks that were not well aimed but knocked the wind out of them anyway.

Harry had resorted from yelling insults to uttering mere grunts by the time he realized the metallic taste in his mouth was blood, and Snape's energy was beginning to falter as he punched half heartedly with one arm, the other cradled softly to his side.

Snape figured the wrist had been broken when it was thrown against the table leg, but couldn't have cared at this point. He finally slumped over, breathing heavily and half leaning against Harry, oddly thankful that they had not used wands. Somehow the physical exertion had made him feel less sullied.

"I will never be my father." It was spoken in bitterness and resignation.

"Neither will I." Harry agreed in reply, before taking his wand and healing Snape's wrist.

Snape nodded in acknowledgement, and they both took their separate ways for the night.


	3. Ch 3 Demons

AN: tag.0, I hope this explains the arrest warrant. I have taken some liberties with how the Ministry of Magic works, but I hope they're not too far-fetched. The British wizarding population is not nearly as large as the Muggle one, so it is my estimation that the war was rather crippling to the Ministry, causing some dire shortages in employees, hence the slight allowances in who fills said roles. : - )

Chapter 3 - Demons

Harry was not normally awake that late, but long days speaking to countless mourners left him feeling very restless. It was now his second week living in the new world, as he had come to bitterly call it, and the insomnia was making his eyes itch. Two am brought unwelcome shadows to the corners and crevices of his room and mind, scratching sounds echoing very softly in the heavy quiet. He got up, pushing his feet into socks and hugging himself against the cold that didn't carry through the summer air. He glanced at the desk, but any letters written to his friends tonight would just be burnt come morning. Too cursed to write now.

That, and he had nothing he wanted to say.

Two weeks of speaking words not his own had left him with a firm resolve to keep his mouth shut around the general public. He supposed after living in such a spotlight for his whole wizarding life that the attention after the war shouldn't have surprised him. Of course they would pester him endlessly about giving speeches to the brave at the countless funerals. Of course they were delighted to have him dedicate monuments to the war and the survivors. Of course they would stand behind him as he gave a toast to the brave new world, a new chapter in the history of magic.

Of course, he thought with a sour taste on his tongue, they would treat him like yet another public puppet, and not bother to think about he felt after the night everything ended.

Pushing the door open, Harry stepped into the hall and closed his eyes. Something was drawing him to Snape's room, and he drew his wand in caution. The door was unlocked, and Harry was startled to find the bed untouched. Snape was sat in the chair by the empty fire, half asleep, with a disturbed look on his face. Harry lowered the wand and stepped in slowly. Snape physically looked like the type of hell his mind was in.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, feeling stupid and unsure of what else could be said.

"Demons." Snape's voice was cold, but not quite empty. There was none of the usual anger though. Harry merely nodded, before pulling Snape out of the chair and pushing him toward the bed. His hand was slapped away, and Snape growled.

"Touch me again Potter, and I will boil your fingers in a potion."

"All those years you thought I was useless in potions. Apparently not."

"Suitable only for a poison."

The reply was slow, and although he was grumbling, Snape did pull back the covers and climb in. He eyed Harry warily from the bed before drifting off twenty minutes later. Harry sat curled in the same chair by the fire, the one he'd sat in while Snape was first recovering. He stoked the fire, and pulled a blanket up over himself. Oddly, while Snape was sleeping, Harry found that his features grew much softer. There was a small level of vulnerability, and the tightness that kept the lips firm and the eyebrows arched was gone, leaving an almost relaxed look on Snape's face. It was one Harry didn't mind watching for a while.

With a start, Harry shook his head at that thought and wondered what his subconscious was playing at. He fell asleep somewhere around three thirty am, and neither man saw another demon for the rest of the night.

….

Breakfast was taken late the next morning, and while they moved around the kitchen in an awkward routine, neither mentioned the events of the night before, nor the fact that Harry had spent the whole night crunched on the chair. He'd been embarrassed when he'd scrambled to his feet, dropping the blanket to the floor, but it seemed that Snape had finally gotten some decent sleep after going to bed and had kept his mouth shut, stilling any insults.

For now, Snape was enjoying the silence as he ate his porridge. Sixteen years of taking meals with a hall full of chattering students had made quiet mealtimes into something he dearly relished. Potter was thankfully silent as well, sipping a tea and reading the Daily Prophet. From the look of annoyance on his face, Snape concluded that that Skeeter woman must have been allowed to write again, or that her replacement was even worse.

It was a scandalous article, but Harry was not surprised to see it. All the statements to the press he'd given so far about what had happened had been void of any real details. Harry had merely confirmed what everyone else had seen, and refused steadfastly to answer any personal questions, though there had been one persistent reporter pestering him about a book contract. He'd become particularly snappish regarding the "what will you do with your life now?" question. He tossed the front page over the table to Snape, and he waited calmly for Snape's explosion. The man, after all, was a star feature in the article as well.

"Hmm."

Harry admitted to himself that he was a bit disappointed at the reaction.

"He accuses you of being a vampire, regrouping the Death Eaters, corrupting me and possibly shagging me, and all you have to say is hmmm?"

Harry cursed himself for sounding whiny, but he did wonder at Snape's level of self-control.

Snape said nothing, but looked straight at Harry and bared his teeth. Two pointed fangs grew down towards his lips, and then with a glint in his eye he hissed at Harry.

Harry looked shocked for a few seconds, his mouth slightly open. The mug in his hand almost dropped onto the table. Snape smirked, and Harry swore he heard a slight chuckle. Forget trying to sound mature.

"You're...but you… no you're not! How the hell did you do that? Teach me!"

"A variation on the densaugeo spell that Miss Granger experienced during your fourth year. I tailored it as a teenager for my own amusement."

"Brilliant. Maybe I could use that to keep the press away."

Snape picked up the paper again and looked at the picture of Harry from the battle, looking exhausted and lost. The picture of Snape was no less flattering, though his expression was filled with distain instead of fatigue. The reporter, Fenton Greeley, had indeed gone to town with the article. Potter's loyalties had been questioned, and the reporter had carefully crafted suspicion into the mind of the public. Potter murdered Voldemort. Potter disappeared for a year before saving the world. Potter came back from the dead. Potter was indestructible. Potter was disappearing again without explanation. Potter had no plans for the future. Snape agreed on the last point; he'd always thought an idle Potter was a dangerous one.

If possible, the article turned nastier. Instead of speculating on Snape's whereabouts separately, Greeley had combined the two little theories of his. The general public did not yet know that he was still alive, and so Greeley built on the mystery surrounding his supposed death. His body hadn't been found anywhere, and the Weasley idiot had mentioned right after the battle that he'd watched Snape die in the Shack. Nothing but blood had been found there, of course, and Potter had even remembered to remove the potion bottles. Snape guessed that this did not help with the vampire angle, and he knew his Death Eater past would haunt him beyond the grave.

For Merlin's sake though, where had the homosexual slant come from? He'd always been very discreet as a young man, and had not allowed himself much pleasure during his time as a spy. Weren't there laws against slander? He suddenly remembered Potter's fifth year and what the Ministry had been allowing the press to print. No peace for the damned, it seemed.

"Maybe I can make an official statement in court, to Kingsley."

Snape was startled out of his thoughts, and focused on Harry.

"A few memories, enough to prove that you were acting on Dumbledore's orders. This…" he gestured at the paper and tried to think of the proper word to use, "bullshit should be stopped."

Snape was suddenly tired. The war was over, and he still didn't own his life.

"Do what you want, Potter. You always do."

"It's for your own...look, I just want to set the record straight. You deserve it."

"Deserve what, Potter? Freedom? Admiration? I'm defined by the skull on my arm, Potter, don't make any idiotic Gryffindor idealizations. I'm only here until slightly less than three quarters of the Wizarding world wishes my death. Then I shall leave."

Harry stared for a good minute, before rising from the table and taking his mug to the sink. There had been defeat in Snape's voice, not malice.

"Don't be such a bloody prat."

Harry made it to the door before Snape answered.

"The teeth complete the image, Potter. Living room after lunch, be prepared for pain."

….

Harry apparated to Hogwarts at five thirty, walking under his invisibility cloak up to the front doors, bypassing the throng of reporters that were crowded around and waiting. He quietly made his way to the Gryffindor tower and knocked on McGonagall's door.

Minerva greeted him with a small hug and a slight gasp. After looking over Harry for a moment, ignoring his confused look, she asked how their mutual friend was doing, silently pointing her wand at a rather large bruise on Harry's arm.

Harry tried to hide his blush, and only answered that Snape seemed to be energetic.

"Mr. Potter, what on earth happened?"

"We had a lively discussion, that's all."

"A lively discussion? He struck you during a lively discussion?" she sputtered, annoyance on her face.

"No, well, yes, but to be fair, I think I broke his wrist at one point."

Minerva crossed her arms and drew her face into the Stern Professor Look.

"And the black eye?"

"Oh." Harry shrugged with a sheepish grin. "That started it, and I do believe I deserved that one."

At precisely six pm Harry Potter walked across the stage that had been set up at the front entrance of Hogwarts. He was dressed in a conservative set of dress robes hastily purchased in Cardiff along the way to the conference, the deep green colour reflecting his eyes perfectly. He was covered in a strong glamour cast by Minerva herself, to cover the evidence of his fight.

He was nervous, and kept licking his teeth while he waited. They were rather sore from the spell lessons earlier, but Harry had successfully managed to grow fangs after an hour.

Unfortunately, Harry's nervous habit had caught the attention of the photographer with Fenton Greeley, the man who planned to focus on the vampire angle. It was scandalous, and he refused to feel guilty for such a fabrication. He'd sold his soul long ago, and his current client was paying quite a lot to drag the Potter name down. Greeley had made sure to get a seat in the front row of the press conference, though he wore a glamour to avoid recognition. More than one sucker punch in the past had taught him that discretion in public was safest. He set his dicto-quill to the pad of parchment, and took out his own. Two versions were better than one, in the end, and on cue, Potter started his speech.

"I'm here to tell the truth and answer to some of the ridiculous claims that were printed in the Daily Prophet today."

There was silence across the lawn, and they waited. It occurred to disappointingly few that this was only a seventeen-year-old boy.

"I am not another dark wizard in the making. I don't know why I survived the Killing Curse again. I spent the past year hunting down objects that needed to be destroyed before Voldemort could be." The crowed collectively shuddered, and Harry took a drink of water. "I am not in a relationship with anyone at the moment, I don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I when I figure it out, I will not be announcing it to any newspaper." There was a murmur running through the crowd at that, and Harry shook his head until it had quieted.

"It's my private life."

More murmuring from the crowd, and there were a few disgruntled yells that people just wanted to know what he was up to. A quick glance at his watch, ten minutes had gone by. He felt an incredible urge to flee.

"Lastly, Professor Severus Snape is innocent. I will give testimony to the Wizengamot…"

It took fifteen seconds to sink in, and then caused an uproar. Harry caught bits of what was shouted. "He's not dead?" "He's a vampire!" "He killed Dumbledore!"

Harry had had enough, but both sides of the stage were covered with people and he didn't see an easy way out. They were shouting at him now, and Harry could unfortunately understand the shouts. Echoes went off through his mind, and he felt worse than he had in fifth year when he had been accused of being crazy.

Why did it matter what he did with his life? Why was it important they know what he was planning? The invisibility cloak was somewhere in his shoulder bag, he just had to fish it out. Why were they now demanding that Harry become an auror for the greater good? The yells were starting to drown each other out, which Harry felt relief for. There was one that stuck with him though, as he pulled the cloak over himself and ran for the edge of the wards.

"You can't just disappear again! You're here for our safety! You owe us that!"

The roaring in his ears settled only mere seconds before Harry found himself crumpled on the floor in the living room, the cloak flown aside and his glasses askew. Snape was sitting in the chair by the fireplace, watching him with intense curiosity, a familiar brown glass bottle in his hand. Harry sat up and felt sick to his stomach, but it wasn't due to the traveling.

_You owe us. _

It'll never be enough. Harry ground that thought out on his teeth, before finally losing his lunch. The bucket he aimed at had been conjured in record time by Snape, who managed to hold back his look of disgust as Harry threw up.

After a few minutes Snape summoned a flannel as well, banishing the bucket as he handed the wet cloth over. He heard a distinct mumble from Potter, and his gut clenched cold at the familiar words.

"I'm just a means to an end."

They were soft-spoken, full of dejection, and steadfast in belief. Snape remembered thinking the same of himself, many times before. Most of those times had been in the early morning, after he'd come home bruised and battered from a meeting with the Dark Lord. More than twice he'd thought the same after a conversation with Dumbledore.

Snape stood and strode toward the garden door, searching for fresh air and a moment to his thoughts.

"No, you're not." He replied, walking out the door with his robes snapping behind him.

…

The morning was a chilly one, and though it was mid May, there was a bit of frost on the grass under the hedges. The back garden of the house was relatively taken care of, though the brush around the perimeter wall had been allowed to grow slightly chaotic, and it gave a safe contained feeling to the area. The small stone patio that lead out from the living room had some furniture on it, but Snape found him sitting on the stone step, dressed in his pyjamas and a jumper, watching the sky get lighter and holding a letter in his dangling hand.

"Potter, do you know how long it takes me to make a pepper up potion for someone who gets a cold?"

Snape was dressed in his regular clothes, though instead of an outer robe he had chosen to wear a thick dark green knit jumper.

"No idea, Snape." Harry merely shrugged, and didn't turn around. Perhaps it was because they were on his turf that Harry no longer felt terrified of his potions master. Maybe he'd just grown up over the year and realized that the git wasn't out to kill him. Either way, it made conversation a little easier.

"Not nearly as much time as it will take you to make it, when you get sick from sitting out here with this chill. To be perfectly honest, Potter, I don't know how you've survived this long."

He spun around and marched back into the house, and within minutes Harry heard the sounds of breakfast being made. Maybe "easier" was the wrong word. However, the frustration that sounded in the older man when Harry wouldn't rise to his baiting comments was certainly amusing.

They spent the morning avoiding each other, Snape staying in the cellar lab, and Harry sitting in the small study, idly reading a muggle adventure book. It was rubbish, but it distracted him properly from thinking about what the Ministry had planned for him next. Finally at noon he could not ignore his stomach any longer, and walked into the kitchen to make lunch. Snape was there already, and it wasn't long before they both had something palatable in front of them on the table.

Conversation wasn't necessary; Snape had noted that Harry had started talking less and less during the days. The Gryffindor was normally annoyingly chatty with his friends, but perhaps this change was just due to his presence in the house. A welcoming thought, Snape smirked, that he could still render his ex students into silence.

These ponderings were interrupted however, when the little grey furball he'd seen the other day barreled into the kitchen, nearly knocking over a bowl of fruit on the counter. It appeared to have a letter attached, though was moving too fast for the letter to be caught.

"Potter, does this high strung lunatic belong to one of your friends?"

The annoyance was not hidden in his voice, but Potter merely offered a small smile and sat back in his chair.

"Yeah, he's Ron's owl. Quite fast with his deliveries, at least."

Snape looked at him with disbelief.

"And what grandiose name did Mr. Weasley bestow this tiny little…creature?"

There was a small pop and a shriveled house elf appeared, startling them both.

"Master Snape called Kreacher?"

"What? No, I meant _a_ creature, not you, elf."

"How do you know Snape is here, Kreacher?"

Both were staring at Kreacher and speaking almost at the same time, but the elf's attention was turned up towards the ceiling, a look of annoyance in his huge eyes as the owl shrilled loudly.

"Pig! Stop it." Harry made no move to catch the bird, however.

"Potter, that is not a pig." Snape's eyebrow quirked up as he pointed in the general direction of the ceiling.

"Of course it isn't." Harry turned back to the newspaper on the table and did not offer further explanation.

"I understand Gryffindors are not known to be the most intelligent beings, but do you mean to tell me that Mr. Weasley cannot tell the difference between an owl and a pig?"

He received a glare from that comment, and then Harry dismissed Kreacher. Harry put his arm up to still the fluttering bird, finally catching him.

"_Pigwidgeon_ was named by Ginny."

"Of course it was." Snape replied, mocking him.

Harry stared at the man across the table from him, who had now lined up his empty glass bottles and was transfiguring them into potion vials; in a bizarre ritual he had called Wizard Recycling.

"Why do you drink that stuff?"

"I find it relaxing." Snape responded coldly, not in the mood to defend his addictions.

"Caffeine and sugar." There was a small quirk of Harry's lips before green eyes peeked out at him from black hair. "They're stimulants, hardly relaxing."

Snape didn't answer, but leveled a withering glare. The next bottle was transfigured into a very black vial.

"Come on, there must be another reason. And why the bottles? They sell it in cans, it's cheaper."

Snape's glare did not recede, and he circled the bottom of one empty on the wooden table, listening as the grooves on the glass made a small whirring noise.

"The taste is different. Aluminium cans are fine for children's drinks and weak ale, however for a cold and foamy root beer, I think not. The glass keeps the drink sufficiently chilled with no change of taste."

"Which is why we keep potions in glass jars…" Harry surmised. "Who gave you your first root beer?"

"That is none of your business, Mr. Potter."

"Worth a shot," Harry shrugged. . "May I try one?"

"Don't you have a Weasley or two to go bother?" The row of vials was nearly complete, in an arrangement of dark colours.

"I suppose." Harry stood and took his dishes to the sink, apparently giving up on his quest for the moment.

"I have a limited supply, Potter. One does not go giving away potential bartering chips." Snape looked smug and he managed a small ghost of a smile as Harry left the room, leaving through the pantry to go outside, waving him off. The pantry door was left open, and out of the corner of his eye Snape saw three wooden cases stacked on top of each other, a canvas bag only partially covering them. His brand of root beer, in glass bottles, that he had definitely not sent Kreacher out for.

"You're a moron, Potter." Snape muttered, before gathering his new vials to take to the lab.

…

Harry dragged Snape out to the Burrow later that evening, where Percy and Arthur had gathered with news about the Ministry and Snape's trial. Although Kingsley had been elected as Minister of Magic, the organization itself was under heavy scrutinization to flush out the corrupted workers and the imperialized. Voldemort's influence had run very deep within the Ministry, and the aurors were stretched thin.

Percy had been reinstated to his position within the Ministry after the war, and had been able to find out more about the upcoming trials. It appeared that Cornelius Fudge was leading the prosecution against the remaining Death Eaters, having been retained by a few old and new Wizarding families. With permission from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Wizengamot, Fudge had brought about a large amount of cases to the court, and seemed to be eyeing Snape as a particularly valuable prize. Snape's case had been pushed back to August 15th, as far as Fudge could have made it, and Percy admitted that it had been set then to inflict the most inconvenience and discomfort to Snape. Fudge had believed he'd gained the upper hand by freezing Snape's property and bank vaults, and so Snape was content to stay out of the public and keep up the illusion that he did not have a cozy little warm cottage to retire to and putter around in all summer.

Arthur wrung his hands sheepishly and explained that while the Spinner's End was under a charm, Kreacher had been able to enter without setting off any alarms at the Ministry, and was currently ferreting Snape's belongings out. Harry knew they were being sent to Cairn Hollow, but Arthur merely figured they were being sent to whatever hide out Snape was using.

"No furniture can go, because that would be obvious, but Kreacher is bringing your clothes, books, and a few other things. If you need anything else, just give the list to Harry and he'll get Kreacher to go back for the things."

"That is appreciated." Snape commented, leveling narrowed eyes at Harry.

The topic was changed rather fast back to the upcoming cases against Death Eaters, and Snape leaned against the window in the living room, arms crossed and face impassive. Fudge was a simple man to figure out, and so Snape wasn't worried. Instead, he listened to the rest of the family gossip while looking out the window. After a moment, Snape stiffened at a slight bit of movement he saw over by the old outhouse. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger had just apparated in, but there was something odd about how they'd arrived.

Molly was in the middle of greeting them when Snape moved quickly from the window, snatching up Harry's messenger bag and pulling out the invisibility cloak that was folded within. The room went silent as they watched him, but Snape paid no mind as the cloak swirled around him and he disappeared out the front door.

"Yeah, sure, you can borrow it!" Harry yelled at the door, shaking his head.

Snape stalked out into the front yard and silently made his way over to the broom shed, which was near the apparition point for the Burrow. The cloak was a perfect fit, rendering him invisible and not even making a sound as it swished around his feet. Snape walked gingerly around the brush, searching for the dark presence that had caught his attention through the window. He finally found it after a minute; a man crouched against a tree wearing a black cloak.

As Snape snuck up behind the man he noticed a small wizard camera and three pads of paper, with two quills. One was writing by itself, the other was hastily being used by the man as he frantically scribbled. Snape could read his own name and Potter's name several times on the paper, and realized that this must be the reporter who was writing the damning articles.

Snape stooped down to pick up a stone, casting a wordless Portus spell on the stone. He leaned down, the other man not noticing him at all, and hissed in the man's ear.

"How nice of you to join us."

The man whirled around, stammering and dropping his papers everywhere. Snape, however, remained hidden under the cloak. His wand trained on the man's forehead, and within seconds a very strong obliviate spell was cast, and the stone shoved into the man's hand.

Snape gathered all the man's belongings and shrunk them to study later, before turning back and walking to the front door again. A few hundred miles away in London, a very confused greeting witch was wondering what to do with the stunned man who had just appeared in the waiting room of St. Mungo's.

The discussion in the living room was abruptly halted when Snape arrived back in, tossing the cloak to Harry and pointing his wand directly at Ron and Hermione.

"Finite Incantatem."

It was said before anyone could react, and after a second Ron sputtered in indignation.

"What the hell are you playing at?"

"Locator spell was cast on one of you, a reporter was in the brush." Snape replaced his wand back in his arm holster, and nodded towards the Weasleys.

"No need for thanks."

He took the key out of his pocket and apparated out, not saying a word to anyone else.

Hermione turned to stare at Harry, who grinned.

"He's not changed much even though Voldemort's gone. Anyway. I'd like to offer you and Ron Grimmauld Place to live at. After we clean it, of course."

There was a gasp in the room as everyone turned to stare at him.

"Are you sure Harry? That's quite a large house, and it was given to you by Sirius." Hermione seemed a bit worried and was ignoring Ron's wide grin.

"I'm sure, Hermione. I've got my own place now, and it's just sitting there empty. Besides, by giving it to you two it'll be the same as keeping it in the family anyway."

Molly squeaked and clasped her hands to her mouth. She was barely hiding her smile as Hermione reluctantly accepted, giving Harry a tight hug.

"I think it's a great idea!" Molly was smiling and summoned a piece of parchment to her hands, using her wand as a quill and starting to write something madly. "We'll need to get rid of the bugs, of course, remove that silly curse at the door, get rid of that awful painting, brighten up the rooms…"

Molly trailed off as she took notes, looking more excited as she went. Ron leaned over towards Harry, nodding at his mom and giving a small thanks.

"Thanks, mate. For the house and for distracting her. She's not been the same since Fred died."

Harry nodded, completely understanding. Molly Weasley was a woman who liked to keep busy, and if she was busy, she did not have time to dwell.

"Speaking of houses, when do we get to see your place, Harry?" Hermione leaned in, ignoring Molly's chatter. "It's been almost a month since you've hidden yourself away."

"Oh, err. I've just been fixing the house up." He looked away, hoping that Hermione could not see the lie. Harry didn't know why he hadn't invited his best friends to visit yet, he just knew that it had been very comfortable living with only Snape at the house. And that thought disturbed him slightly.

"I suppose you could come over first weekend of June? Everything will be ready by then."

"Brilliant!" Ron clapped him on the back. "We'll be there, wherever there is."

Harry laughed and nodded. "Just go to the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, you can get to my place from there."

Both Ron and Hermione looked very confused, but before they could ask anything further, Molly had rounded on them.

"And Ronald Weasley, you will not even think of sharing a room with our lovely Hermione until you plan to make an honest lady out of her."

It was a threat that Molly knew she had no hope in really enforcing. Harry couldn't help the grin that was planted on his face.

…..

A calm pattern settled over the cottage, and continued through the end of May. They'd share an early breakfast, pour over the newspaper for any news from the Ministry on the remaining Death Eaters, and then Snape would retreat to the potions lab, the living room, or the garden. His belongings had slowly started to encroach in Harry's space, making Snape feel slightly more at ease in the cottage. It was a strange feeling, one he preferred not to think about too much.

Harry would either disappear to the library, or out to visit the Weasleys for the cleaning of Grimmauld Place during the day. At least twice a week, Harry left to attend some sort of function or dedication. He'd return home, refuse to talk, and they'd share a quiet dinner. The evenings were early, and both pretended to have slept well come morning. The night terrors were never spoken of, though Harry often found himself sleeping in the chair in Snape's room. It was quiet, it was peaceful during the day, and Snape wondered when Harry would finally snap.

Harry sat in the little kitchen beside the window, the mug of tea he nursed in his hand long having gone cold. If he weren't so tired he would have laughed, as it felt rather ironic to think he'd ever be wishing for his old nightmares again. At least those fears had been familiar. This new terror, the absolute nothingness that invaded his mind and surrounded him with such pitch black darkness unsettled him more than facing Voldemort had. He looked up upon hearing a small noise, and brought his thoughts back into focus as he saw Snape shuffle through the door. Snape stifled a small yawn as he regarded Harry, before moving to turn on the kettle. There was only a small candle lit, but the moon was bright enough not to need any further light.

"Nightmare?" Snape was just setting into the chair across the table, and raked his hand through his loose hair, looking more tired than Harry had ever seen him. But then, it had been a full month in the cottage with neither of them getting much more than four hours rest a night.

"Yeah." Grunted Harry in return. After a minute he made to say something else, but Snape held up his hand.

"You're a man now, so you say, and I don't do sharing time."

Harry laughed for a few seconds and then sat back, more relaxed. If Snape's nightmares were of his Death Eater past, it was best not to know.

"Though something must change as I find it a little unsettling that the only nights I can get any real sleep is when you are sitting in the chair in my room, looking like death resurrected." Snape concluded, pulling a small chocolate bar from the bowl in the centre of the table.

"I have no idea what to do with my life." Harry mumbled ignoring the insult.

Snape watch him and nodded, before standing up to make his tea.

"Naturally. Your life has been driven around the defeat of Voldemort, and nothing more."

"And yours." Harry whispered to his mug, remembering Snape's memories.

The tea mug hit the wood table slightly harder than necessary as Snape sat back down, a black glint in his eyes.

"Manipulative barmy old bastard." It was muttered darkly but Harry heard it anyway and snorted rather bitterly in agreement.

"Dumbledore's little players, a means to an end." Harry's eyes remained trained on his mug but he had the sudden thought that its contents should be much stronger than cold tea.

"Stop saying that." Snape snapped, before looking past Harry and lowering his voice. "I am as well finding myself uneasy about my current open schedule."

It was a similar confession to Harry's, but this speech was definitely Potions Master Snape. While he was at school he would have found the language pompous and annoying, but Harry saw part way behind the words now. They merely hid the uncertainty.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Harry bolted up in his seat and startled Snape out of his thoughts.

"Let's get revenge."

Snape stared at him like he had sprouted a horn from his forehead.

"Potter, the man is dead. Unless you are not only immune to the killing curse, but can reverse it…"

"No, no." Harry cut him off, with the wave of his hand. "Have you ever heard of a list Muggles make called fifty things to do before I die?"

A quirked eyebrow was added to the skeptical look.

"It's a list of things people want to do before they die. We could make a list of things to do that we've missed out on because of the war and Dumbledore's planning. Like dating someone, traveling, learning to drive a car…"

Harry trailed off at this and suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He looked up at Snape's black eyes and swallowed hard.

"He took your life from you." It was croaked out, as Harry couldn't make his voice work properly. "For the past twenty years, he took your life. He knew you'd never get married, never have a family, never be free."

The room was suddenly rather warm, and Snape shifted in his seat. He probably wouldn't have felt this on edge had the look in Potter's eyes not been so open.

"Potter, I knew what the terms were when I made the deal with Albus. It was either that or go to Azkaban. I chose this life. I was an adult, and old enough to know what I was doing."

"I wasn't." The gaze still met his, but Harry's face displayed a myriad of emotions. He could understand the anger and the determination, after all that seemed to be major components in Gryffindors. What Snape didn't understand was the despair.

"With you, he wasn't sure what the end would be. Maybe he didn't care, just thought you'd figure something out. But he knew all along I would die."

Thinking back, Snape knew that's exactly how Harry's experiences with Dumbledore seemed to have been. The old man was certainly a manipulator, and he made no secret to be on the forefront of planning things and anticipating the moves of his enemies and compatriots. But even Dumbledore wasn't perfect, and perhaps his quest to bring about the end of Voldemort had indeed blinded him to the other important things. Namely, the small things Harry had mentioned, that got them through one big event in life to the next.

"What's your plan for revenge, Potter?" He watched Harry grit his teeth before explaining further. "I am not Albus Dumbledore, and while he was an extremely powerful wizard, it seems that he did make some errors in his desire to use us to end the war."

Harry let out his breath, and realized that arguing with Snape would be pointless. He and Snape had been trained, set up, done their duty, and no been left to their own devices, as they were no longer needed.

"We make up for lost time. And refuse to bend to someone else's will."

Snape seemed to consider this, and Harry thought it must have been because of the early hour that he was actually thinking about it, instead of hexing Harry for the stupid idea.

"What does this entail, making up for lost time?"

"Anything, within reason, that you've wanted to do in your life. Even something stupid or childish, like getting drunk for the first time or going camping." The last part was spoken down into Harry's chest.

"If that is the case, you will not be seeing my list." Snape commented, taking a drink.

"No, but...what? Snape! We're supposed to do this together."

"Whatever would make you think I would agree to that, Potter?"

"Because it's four am, and we're sitting in my kitchen. In the house we've lived together in for a month without killing each other, in our pyjamas. You haven't hexed me once, you can't leave because Fudge and the public are still demanding you be put on trial, and I don't want to do this alone, damnit."

Snape said nothing.

"If no other reason, it gives you the perfect opportunity to mock me, and fill the time for the summer."

"That may be acceptable."

Harry scowled at him.

"Surely you know by now that I'm not James Potter."

Snape stood up and drew his cloak around himself, crossing his arms and glaring right back.

"I knew that a long time ago." And with that, he stalked off towards the stairs, leaving Harry in the kitchen to contemplate what he wanted to do for the summer.

…

Snape sat at his regular spot at the table during breakfast time, a piece of parchment in front of him. He'd spent an hour thinking about Potter's challenge, and found it easy to list things that he wanted to do. Many years ago he'd been very angry with Albus, the anger boiling up within him when he realized that Albus would have control over him for the rest of his life. Now, with Potter's childish idea and the Dark Lord finally gone, he actually had the excuse to fulfill some of his more unsophisticated requests. If he played his cards right, he could have a companion alongside as well.

Harry entered the room and flipped the kettle on, settling tiredly into the kitchen chair across the table from Snape. Food was already set out, and Harry gave him a quick thanks before grabbing some fruit.

"Potter. I will agree to your little life experiment."

Harry smiled and grabbed a muffin.

"Sounds like you have terms."

"Indeed. The first being that we do not tell anyone what we are doing."

Harry looked at him curiously, but pulled his own list out from his pocket.

"That was a given."

"The second is that you may ask only once why I wish to do something. If I do not answer, you must drop the subject." Snape took a sip of his tea before continuing. "I will extend the same courtesy to you."

"Right." Harry agreed, chewing on a strawberry. "A condition of mine is that you're not allowed to laugh at any of my ideas."

Snape noted that Harry sounded apprehensive, but agreed anyway.

"I am certain I will think of more terms, but at the moment, I am finished. And finally, either of us are able to refuse a request, however it involves sacrificing something from our own lists."

Harry agreed to this as well, and stood up to start taking stock of the pantry. Snape made to leave the kitchen, but Harry stopped him with a smile.

"By the way, Ron and Hermione are stopping by next weekend. I told them I'd been working on the house to fix it up, that's why they hadn't come earlier."

Snape stiffened, casting a look of annoyance at Harry.

"I suppose you want me to disappear from the house for the day, so they won't find out our little secret?"

"No." Harry shrugged, not wanting to start a fight. "You live here for the summer. They'll get used to it. Well, Hermione will explain it to Ron later."

Snape gave a huff of irritation towards Harry, and turned to leave.

"One more rule I thought of, but it's more of a house rule." Harry continued, stopping Snape momentarily. "There's only us here, so feel free to act as yourself, instead of the Order Member and Death Eater Spy person that you pretend to be. Anything that happens here stays here."

"Mr. Potter, how are you so sure that this is not who I really am?" Standing in the doorway, Snape made himself to look threatening and imposing. An effect that was somewhat lost on Potter, who had dropped some blueberries and was crawling under the table to fetch them.

"I saw your childhood memories," Harry's reply was muffled by the table, "you looked to be very curious and a bit more relaxed."

After a moment, Snape nodded and then continued out of the room. Harry hoped he'd consider that rule of the house with seriousness, because Harry was tired of pretending to be everyone's saviour, or the freak who lived in the cupboard. Now that Voldemort was gone, it only made sense to unwind and find himself.

Fifteen minutes later he left the kitchen and passed the living room, where Professor Severus Snape had his feet up on the couch, outer robe off, and was watching a black and white movie on the television. Harry smiled all the way upstairs.

…..

In his own private office at the Ministry, Cornelius Fudge looked at the paperwork before him and cursed. The hospital bill was sizable, but not of upmost importance. The fact that it had taken almost two full weeks to break through the memory modification angered him further. And Greeley could still not remember who had cast the spell. Fudge refused to change his plans however, and would not let this little set back upset him any further.


	4. Ch 4 Absinthe is Not Your Friend

AN: This one is a bit longer. If I'm not explaining any bit properly, just let me know. It makes sense in my head, and sometimes I forget to put everything down on paper. Thanks for the support and the reviews!

Chapter Four - Absinthe is Not Your Friend

After four and a half weeks of living at Cairn Hollow, Snape was accustomed to the Moods of Potter. During the day he was actually quite civil and, as Snape loathed to admit: mature. He had definitely grown up into a man over the past year, instead of an irritating adolescent. He was a considerate roommate, keeping the house tidier than Snape had expected he would, and a rather excellent cook. Snape even found that he was beginning to enjoy the conversations and company of Potter. It was yet another thought that kept him up thinking at night.

There was one mood, however, that Snape noticed more than the other changes. Whenever he came home from a Ministry function, all Snape could feel was a blanket of despair upon the cottage. Harry rarely spoke, but the dejection in his face was quite evident as he stormed up the stairs, where he'd take a bath and then toss and turn in the bed. Around three in the morning Snape would walk down to the room and sit in the chair by the fire for the rest of the night, ending whatever nightmare Harry was experiencing and letting him sleep till morning.

This night was different though, and Snape sensed it as soon as he heard the crack of apparition. Harry landed in the kitchen violently, stumbling into the table and looking as if he was about to throw up. Though he had grasped the chair in a death grip, Snape noted that his entire body was shaking. Blood ran down Harry's left arm, and there was a puddle against his shirt at his shoulder, where something had done quite a bit of damage. His face was very white, and he looked to be minutes from passing out. Something at the ministry had gone very wrong.

Harry barely heard Snape's movements over the loud fuzzy noise in his ears and the pulsing pain above his heart. He was vaguely aware of being shoved into a chair, before something in cobalt glass bottle rushed by his head and was caught deftly by quick reflexes. The bottle was lifted to his lips and poured in, feeling icy cold as it slipped down his throat. Only after it was down did Harry realize how bitter the taste was, offering both a grimace and a cough. The cotton in his ears abated slowly with the pain, and he became aware of Snape's hands on his shoulders, pulling him up to his feet.

"Upstairs. I need to fix your arm."

The hands stayed on Harry's sides as he swayed out the door and was steered towards the landing. Harry shrugged, trying to loosen the grip, but Snape remained very close behind him.

"Gerroff. I'm not a toddler."

"You're injured, Potter. I will not have you tumbling arse over teakettle down the stairs and creating more work for me."

No further argument was offered, as Harry did find it difficult to keep level on the stairs, and was grateful when he was shoved down on his bed. Snape made quick gentle work of removing his shirt, though could not keep a small gasp back as he inspected the injury. Right below the shoulder joint and just above the rib cage, on Potter's left side, was a large knife wound.

"What happened? Was it a cursed knife?"

All Harry managed to mumble was an "I don't know" as Snape disinfected the stab wound, pouring a potion inside before moving his wand over the mark and saying a small incantation.

"Was it a spell?"

"Flying knife." Harry's skin was pale white, and his eyes were drooping. The pain potion's mild sedative combined with shock would probably knock him out for the rest of the night, Snape realized, and he'd have to wait until morning to get the full story.

"No women, don't want them." Harry was mumbling, slurring his words. "Crazy."

Snape quirked his eyebrow, but said nothing as Harry finally passed out.

After fully wrapping the shoulder and checking to see that no poison was taking hold, Snape left the room and went to his own. He stalked around in front of the dresser, trying to remember what function Harry had been at that evening. A fundraiser of some sort, held at the Ministry. There must have been aurors there, though, because with a few Death Eaters still on the loose not everything was secure. And Snape well knew that there was the possibility of an insane admirer or someone hell bent on some form of vengeance being the cause of the attack. What of the flying knife, though? Had Harry just seen the knife arch down on him too fast to realize who had swung it? Or had someone actually spelled the knife to fly at him?

His thoughts were startled by a very familiar female voice calling Potter's name from across the hall. Dread pitted in the bottom of Snape's stomach, and he was in the room within seconds with his wand drawn, wondering just how in the hell Granger had managed to get past the wards and fidelius charm. Instead of bushy hair, however, Snape was greeted by a silvery otter flittering about the room. It called Potter's name once again, and then the annoying badgering of Hermione Granger started.

"Harry! You need to get to St. Mungo's! They've captured Romilda, you're safe now. But someone needs to look at your wound, Harry please talk to me! None of us can find you, where are you?"

Snape shook his head and waved his wand at the otter. It disappeared, and with a quick glance to the bed, Snape noted that Harry hadn't moved. He concentrated for a mere second before his doe patronus burst forth from his wand, looking expectantly at him.

"Miss Granger, Potter is safe and the wound has been tended to. He is asleep now, however I need to know the exact details of what happened. I await your message."

Patronus messages were not difficult to send, and Snape rather liked the measure of privacy they afforded. He did not wish any of the Weasleys or Granger invading their little cottage sanctuary via a Floo call.

Less than an hour later Snape was back in Harry's room, moving mechanically as he pondered the information Granger had given him. The dinner had been going fine, if not rather boring, when a screeching noise had been heard from near the buffet, and a knife had gone soaring through the air. It had been spelled, and it had only been Harry's luck that he'd turned at that moment, causing the knife to strike his upper shoulder instead of dead center. There had been a few minutes of shock from the crowd while the aurors had surrounded Harry and subdued Romilda Vane, but her yells had been heard quite clearly. She had been screaming adamantly that if she could not have Harry, than no one would.

"Apparently, she doesn't know that you're the Boy-Who-Doesn't-Bloody-Die."

Snape's comment was to himself, and his amusement was evident in the undertone. Harry slumbered on, looking relaxed and comforted by the white bedding and thick duvet. Still mostly dressed in his formal attire, his shirt torn in half and cut away at the shoulder, he looked a bit out of place. Snape began to methodically remove Harry's dress shoes, spelling them back to the closet. The socks were pulled back, and Snape noted the few sparse black hairs on Harry's feet. They were not youth's feet, and though they were not particularly attractive or large for that matter, they were well proportioned and the soles were rough, as if he preferred to walk without shoes when he could.

Snape's eyes moved up the rest of Harry's body, noting details that he'd never seen before, or perhaps let himself see. The way Harry's sideburns met a few stubborn hairs that shaving had missed, or the lines across his forehead and around his eyes that showed only part of the toll from war. He picked up Harry's hand and noted that instead of a soft child's hand sticky with forbidden candy remnants, he found a hand only slightly smaller than his, calloused in the palms, with strong fingers and knuckles. There was a trace of dirt under the nails, and a few random scars along the fingers and palms. And on his left hand, lettering. There were only a few ways that one could get lettering scars, and Snape had a sickening feeling he knew what had caused this one.

He dropped the hands and carefully sat Harry up by holding his back, ignoring the way Harry's head rolled. Completely exhausted and out of it, which was fine by Snape. The man looked like he needed sleep desperately.

Snape quickly pulled the remnants of the shirt off, taking care not to bump the still healing shoulder, and rested Harry back on the bed. He went to the bathroom for a bowl of warm water and flannel, as the blood had covered more of Harry's skin than he'd thought. He made quick work of cleaning Harry's chest up, cursing himself when he noticed that while Harry didn't have much hair across his chest, there was a dark inviting tuft starting around his belly button that trailed lower under his trousers. Potter's stomach was toned with muscle and a bit of fat, giving him a more natural look instead of a chiseled statue, and two curvy lines above his hips flowed down to the centre of his trousers. Snape sucked in a breath and refused to think about getting aroused in front of Potter, never mind that it was Harry Bloody Potter who had aroused him.

He had convinced himself that his body was exacting revenge for twenty years of celibacy.

The last thing left to do was remove the dress trousers and replace them with the pyjama pants Snape had seen Harry wear countless times. As many wizards learned at an early age, one does not spell trousers on and off when there are delicate parts hanging in the balance, so to say, as the experience is not a comfortable one. Snape just hoped that Harry wore pants under his trousers, and with luck, boxers at that.

He deftly undid the button and zipper, grasping material from around the side of Harry's thighs and tugging down. No boxers, Snape swore inwardly. Instead, just over the hem of Harry's trousers Snape saw white elastic, and bright orange fabric. He pulled further, tugging the material down and finally off, before turning to face Harry again. Strong muscular calves with dark curly hair lay against the white comforter, leading up to those blasted orange y fronts with gleaming white trim. Snape had seen undergarments like that on many men of his persuasion before, and swallowed hard at the implication of Potter that meant. The pyjama pants were put on with record timing.

Snape now had two options. It was very likely that with the attack Harry would have a nightmare that night, so he could either sit in the chair by the fire all night, or sit on the bed. The bed was a double, and certainly big enough, if not slightly inappropriate. However, the chair was not made for sleeping in as he well knew, and Snape didn't want to fall out of it when Harry woke up screaming. He gathered up the medical supplies instead, changed into his own nightclothes with an additional robe, and sat against the pillows on the bed, leaning up against the headboard. He'd brought his potion journal to make notes in, and left the fire going strong for warmth. It was rather comfortable in the room, the window allowed for a slight cool breeze, and outside only dim sounds of crickets could be heard. A group of fireflies played about the window, but zipped off soon after. Tomorrow they'd have to talk about what happened, but tonight, there was at least some peace. Snape propped up his book to begin reading, and tried not to stiffen five minutes later when Harry curled up against his side.

….

Throughout the whole next day both managed to completely avoid discussing what had transpired at the Ministry, even when Snape had carefully rewrapped the wound after checking it. Instead, as a distraction, Snape decided it was time to work on Harry's list.

"It's Friday. Surely you have something silly and socially awkward on your list to do?"

Harry sat in the living room by the fire, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand. It was only afternoon, but the wind was rather strong outside and the clouds hung low.

"I want to order in tonight."

"Pardon?" Snape sat in the leather chair beside him, poking at the logs inside with the iron poker.

"You know. Order takeaway. I've never been able to do that before."

"Potter." Snape stopped poking and looked at Harry as if he had recently walked into a wall. "The house is invisible. You still couldn't."

"Fine." Harry glared, finishing his hot chocolate. "We'll go to Abersoch and get takeaway to bring home. Or I can, since you seem so excited to go."

"Oh, but I am. Knowing you Potter, you will choose a ridiculously ethnic and questionably sanitary establishment to procure dinner, and I will get food poisoning. I will thus successfully avoid your little friends when they visit tomorrow."

Snape stood and walked to the front door, fishing his cloak out of the wardrobe, leaving Harry to shake his head in confusion.

….

Harry had been pacing all Saturday morning as he waited in the kitchen, where the fireplace was open to the Floo connection for a short period of time. Snape had been in and out already, briefly mentioning wearing a tread in the wooden floors before disappearing back to his bedroom. He had not been poisoned by the previous night's dinner, much to his and partially Harry's annoyance.

Finally, at ten thirty, the fireplace roared green and his friends spun into view. His grin spread across his face to the point of hurting his cheeks, and he took a relaxing breath before inviting his friends to his home.

…..

Cornelius Fudge sat behind his desk, a stack of transcripts lying forgotten under his hat. They were from earlier interviews that he'd given with junior Death Eaters and victims of the raids in the wars. He'd listened patiently to all the sob stories, and ruthlessly questioned the stupid young recruits who had joined for the power that was offered to the Dark side. Fudge should have been sickened by the claims of violence made by mere seventeen year olds, but he was no stranger to the quest of power. Nor frustration, and at the moment he was having his fill of that. A knock sounded on his door, and Fudge pointed his wand at it, admitting entrance.

Greeley entered the small office, the wand never wavering as he sat down in front of Fudge. St. Mungo's had only released him a day earlier, and Greeley had spent the night drinking away his embarrassment over being caught. It looked like Fudge would be no less forgiving, and a notebook was thrown roughly at Greeley without warning.

"The trial is August fifteenth, and by then we must completely discredit him. Which we cannot do, if you cannot find the man!"

Fudge's face was brightening in anger, and Greeley began to wonder just when it had become his job to personally smoke out an ex-spy, of all people.

"Get out. You will not be paid until you have something substantial to publish."

Fudge watched as Greeley slinked out the door, his eyes never once making contact. He shuffled the papers again on the desk, resisting the urge to burn them. Over thirty-two interviews, and hardly any mention of Severus Snape at all, not even as a passing witness to the tortures being committed. Fudge was not as stupid as he liked other people to believe, though, and he knew something damning must come up at one point. It wasn't possible that Snape hadn't participated in any of the killings or torture; as damaging as the murder of Dumbledore was, additional crimes would be icing on the cake. Fudge just had to find the right person to talk to.

….

Ron sat in the kitchen of the little cottage, staring around at the decorations and kitchen supplies that were set out on the counters. It seemed so domestic, and while Hermione checked out the garden from the window, Ron let himself be jealous for a moment. Grimmauld Place, while no longer being as dreary as it had been as Order headquarters, was still rather barren.

Harry, however, was completely relaxed in his house. He'd only lived there full time for a month now, but felt that he was truly master of his home. Even his roommate, whom was currently pacing around upstairs, was a tolerated, if not welcome, member of the household.

Upon hearing the floors creaking again, Ron pointed towards the ceiling.

"Mate, really. How do you live in close quarters with that?"

"Ron!"

Though Hermione's tone matched admonishment, Harry could see the smile she was fighting back.

"Oh, he's not that bad, really." Harry joined them at the table and pulled out a deck of cards to play Exploding Snap. "I just pretend he's a woman, helps dealing with the mood swings."

This earned him a loud snort of laughter from Ron, and then they both were swatted by Hermione. Harry had bluntly explained to his friends when they'd first arrived that Snape was living there and that Harry had had to heal him after the war. Ron, surprisingly, had taken the news better than Hermione, whom remained skeptical of their ability to co-exist without causing harm. They had agreed, however, to keep the secret about where Snape was living, as it did seem to be the safest for the moment.

The game started in earnest and the stomping upstairs was forgotten when the cards started to explode. Ron was raking in a sizable pile of debris when through the doorway a blurry black object flew across the room towards Harry's head. Without even looking up from the game Harry swerved out of the trajectory's path, and a second later the object smashed into the wall behind him.

"The hell was that?" Ron snarled, jumping up in surprise. Hermione had gasped, but Harry remained still and shuffling the cards, as if that occurrence was normal for the house.

"Snape. We made a deal, I make sure there's at least two bottles of his favourite drink in the house, or he throws a bag of bottle caps at me."

Hermione stared at him.

"Harry, that's barbaric."

"It works." Harry shrugged, dealing their hands. He stood and walked to the door and yelled up the stairs.

"Kreacher's buying some today! Be a little more patient or I'll hold an intervention."

A muttered string of curses was heard through the ceiling, but Harry merely sat down to begin playing again, ignoring both the colourful language and the widened eyes of his friends.

"It's alright." He finally said, with a smile. "Let's get a start on lunch, eh?"

Harry had suggested home made pizza, so the three set up mixing bowls and a pizza stone on the table, rolling out the home made dough carefully. The pizza would be divided for each to customize as they wanted. When they were almost done, Harry looked at his friends and grinned widely. Not only did Ron have pizza sauce on the side of his mouth, they were both covered in flour. A wicked idea formed in his mind as he covered both hands of his in flour, while Ron was helping Hermione put the pizza in the oven. Under the pretense of gathering ingredients up to clean, Harry moved to Ron's chair and lightly put his hands down. Only when he looked up did he notice Snape standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, a glint in his eyes and a quirk on his lip. Harry quickly moved back to the sink to wash his own hands, trying to look as innocent as he could.

Upon seeing the Potions Master at the door, Ron quickly sat back down and tried to blend into the furniture. Hermione stood her ground, and nodded towards Snape.

"Professor."

Snape considered this and answered civilly.

"Miss Granger." He then turned to look at Harry, who would have been afraid of the glare had he not spent a month learning the many faces of Severus Snape.

"Potter, I do believe you have fully outdone yourself."

Harry found an errant piece of pepperoni and popped it into his mouth.

"You'll need to be more specific Snape, if you're trying to provoke me."

"Hardly. Though this time I was merely commenting on your ability to look like a three year old in a man's body. Most impressive."

"It's a skill." Harry said with flourish, waving his hands around and spreading more flour in the kitchen.

"Indeed." Snape moved out of range and took a carton of leftovers from the fridge. "I'll be in the lab all day. Do try not to set the kitchen on fire."

He moved to leave, ignoring the snort of shocked laughter from Ron.

Once the pizza was in the oven, Harry offered to give Ron and Hermione a tour of the cottage, Hermione giggling at the flour handprints on the seat of Ron's pants. He led them out into the hallway, where Ron proceeded to blatantly inspect everything. Hermione had admonished him, but Harry didn't mind at all. This was the first house he'd ever owned, and he was damn proud to show it off.

Ron had been taken back by the cottage. It appeared to be a cozy home from the kitchen, which was the only view he'd had at first, and it seemed inviting and warm. He knew he shouldn't be surprised at that, but he thought there'd be a cold sense to the house knowing that Snape was living there too. And when Harry had started the tour in the small front hallway, Ron had been slightly surprised to see two sets of boots at the front door, and two cloaks hanging from the hooks. They looked so...normal to be there.

When they moved into the living room, Ron couldn't help but smile. On the wall were large black and white photos of common every day things, and the room was decorated with a few trinkets seemingly placed at random on bookcases and tables. The neutral greys and blues of the room definitely suited Harry, and Ron supposed that the colours were ones he could imagine Snape choosing too. There were plenty of books in the corner book cases, and Ron was amused to see a small little Slytherin pennant poking out from one of the books stacked on the desk. Snape definitely lived here.

As Harry pointed out the back garden to Hermione through the French doors, Ron made his way over to the telly stand that was near the fireplace. It was rather modern, and underneath it was a music player that Ron knew he'd seen before. In his mind Ron flipped through the books he'd read from the Muggle studies course and suddenly remembered with triumph. It was called a CD player. The VHS tapes that were stacked along the low shelf caught Ron's interest, and he was surprised to find a mixture of adventure movies, comedies, and old black and white tapes. He'd seen a few movies, having spent some time in sixth year furiously studying the Muggle world in private, so that he could take Hermione out into Muggle London and not stick out too much. The CDs had his interest too, and though most of his knowledge was of Wizarding music he was pleased to recognize some of the bands. Some of them, however, were strangely foreign.

"Harry? Who's this Counting Crows band? I've never heard of them."

Startled out of their conversation, both Harry and Hermione turned to look at Ron, but it was Hermione who spoke first.

"Oh, those are CDs, Ron, they're for music."

Her voice was sweet and somewhat patronizing, and Harry smirked at Ron's rolled eyes.

"Thanks, Hermione. I've got some myself, glad I have you to tell me what they're for."

This time Harry laughed outright. Hermione stuttered and glared at him.

"They're Snape's, Ron. I think it's one of his favourite bands."

"Wait, those belong to Snape?" Hermione looked very surprised. "But, he's a wizard!"

Ron shook his head and continued flipping through the CD titles. "And you're a witch. So?"

"Most of the movies are his, too." Harry was leaning against the wall and smiling at Hermione's flustered look.

"Well I didn't think your taste in movies was that good, mate." Ron shot Harry a grin.

Hermione laughed a little but then shook her head.

"It's so strange to think about Professor Snape watching movies. I mean, of course he has a life outside of teaching, but I never imagined it to be so…ordinary. He's got a whole stack of movies there, and in the kitchen I saw him leaving with a Chinese take away box!"

Harry furrowed his brow, momentarily confused that Ron was taking the realization of Snape being human much better than Hermione was.

"Hermione." Ron stood up and walked over to her, giving her a light peck of a kiss on her cheek. "This house belongs to two half-blood wizards. Of course there are Muggle things here, and of course they'd use things from both worlds."

"I know Ron!" Hermione stamped out, annoyed that he was making sense. "It's just caught me by surprise."

Ron suddenly got a very evil grin on his face.

"Let's see his room then, Harry. Let's really scare her."

The slap across his face was definitely worth it.

….

Hermione and Ron had taken their leave just after dinner, feigning work on Grimmauld Place early in the morning as an excuse, but Harry knew that they just wanted the evening out together. He felt a small pang of jealously, and for more than a few irrational moments, tried convincing himself that his roommate was just a roommate and was not someone that he was beginning to enjoy spending time alone with. Nonetheless, Harry went to investigate just what said someone was currently up to in the kitchen.

A low fire was burning in the fireplace. It was barely nine pm, and the dusk outside seemed almost suspended. Two bottles and a shot glass sat on the table, and in the background classical music was playing. Harry stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the doorway. Snape worked methodically as if he had been preparing a potion, pouring a glass of absinthe from a bottle that Harry judged to be at least one hundred years old, and very potent.

"I never took you for a drinker."

Snape didn't look up, wanting to appear nonchalant about Harry's presence.

"I'm in the market for a new vice." He placed a spoon on top of the glass, and put a soaked sugar cube on it.

Harry inspected the bottle, turning over the label and reading the ingredients. Wormwood was listed in bold typeface, and Harry sighed, taking a seat.

"It looks like poison."

A match flared and the cube was on fire.

"Maybe it is."

It was silent except for the music for a few moments as the sugar flared and then was doused by the alcohol. Harry watched as a ritual of sorts was performed; Snape muttering something to himself, taking a deep breath, tapping his wand with his finger twice and then drinking half the glass. His face held a grimace and eyes remained shut as he drained the rest, before he sat back and exhaled.

"What's the whole point of this, Snape? If you're trying to get me to talk about the Ministry yesterday, forget it."

Harry received a fierce glare, but after four weeks' practice he was easily able to ignore it.

"Merely exploring other forms of exorcism." Snape refused to look at Harry, choosing instead turn the intricately decorated spoon over continually in his hand. He suddenly looked up, and Harry felt unease at the sardonic grin he received.

"Intended result being that I sleep like the dead through the night without needing you to sleep on a chair in my room. Ends justify the means, after all."

Harry shook his head. The wormwood would knock Snape out, of course, but this was not a permanent solution, nor would the after effects be pleasant.

"And this is a better alternative than dealing with your nightmares?" He asked, knowing full well that he could not talk Snape out of something he'd decided to do.

"No one is forcing you to take part." Snape said, with a snarl reminiscent of Harry's first potions class. "Though I would admire your gluttony for punishment if you did."

"Just drink your damn root beer instead."

"No."

"Fine. Maybe I will join you then. It's on your list, isn't it?"

Snape scoffed and put his spoon back over his now full glass.

"You're going to match me, Potter? I did always protest that you had a suicidal streak."

"I'm not suicidal, but if you're going to be stupid, I may as well go along for the ride."

"Indeed. And tomorrow during Molly Weasley's explosion at the Burrow over your sorry hung-over state, I imagine you'll waste no time blaming your corruptive old professor?"

Harry crossed his arms and shook his head.

"The little green fairy, more like."

Snape regarded him carefully and poured another glass.

"When did you get so old?"

Forty-five minutes later, Harry knew exactly what Snape had meant by the word _clarity_. He felt drunk, though he felt anything but sloppy. The kitchen became a very tactile room under his gaze, and he breathed in the sounds that were surrounding him. He felt like he could hear the colours from the walls and cupboards, and wondered if Snape could feel the same. He had the sickening feeling that something was watching them, but slowly scanning the room with his eyes had revealed nothing, so perhaps he was just hallucinating.

Snape was studying the man across the table from him and knew that he could smell the agitation radiating from his body. Harry's eyes had never been that dull before, and for a man who was able to resist the imperius curse, he was jumping through a lot of hoops for the Ministry and the Order. Yesterday would have been some sort of breaking point, Snape imagined, and if he wasn't careful, Potter might never want to leave the cottage.

Snape shook his head and blinked his eyes. Soon they would pass from the social and intelligent drunkenness of absinthe into the looser, hallucinatory side. What the hell. The bottle was summoned, and he began pouring another, spilling a little at the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.

Harry sat up too fast and stared over by the kitchen door.

"Snape. There is a kappa in the corner." Harry's two heads were spinning. His four eyes were slightly blurry.

"No." Snape's teacher tone was back, and for a moment Harry thought he'd be lectured. "That's a grindylow. Didn't the wolf teach you anything?"

"Says the man who took pleasure when my potions almost blew up at me."

"I have a sick sense of humour."

"Positively macabre." Harry watched Snape fumble the glass.

"What's giving you nightmares, Potter?"

Harry looked up and blinked. It was not the question he was expecting.

"Nothing."

Snape pushed the glass over and handed him the matches.

"Don't lie to me. For all you've been through in the past twenty years, you can't tell me you don't have nightmares. And lets not mention the nights I sleep in your room so you can actually get some rest."

"I'm not lying." Harry mumbled, taking another sip. "I dream that I've woken up, and everything is gone. I'm just lying there, in space, in an endless field of nothing."

Snape stopped to consider the answer and drank his own mixture.

"That would be sufficiently terrifying."

"Stop talking like a bloody textbook."

"What would you have me say, Mr. Potter?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"Do you know any drinking songs? The only one I know is called What do You do With a Drunken Sailor."

Snape stared at him and looked like he was trying to suppress laughter.

"Hell, Potter, what _can't_ you do with a drunken sailor?"

The clock in the kitchen chimed twenty-eight, if Harry had counted properly. He couldn't remember ever being awake at that hour before.

"Whas in this?" His tongue seemed be betraying him. Perhaps Fred and George had slipped him a ton-tongue toffee. No, just George.

"Fred's gone now."

A grunt was given in return, as Snape carefully poured two more shots of absinthe out of the bottle and onto the table. It seeped slowly into the wood around the glasses, reflecting the flare from the fireplace.

"Wormwood. More than I should have put, I think." He placed two spoons above the empty glasses, and set alcohol soaked sugar cubes atop the spoons. Harry watched in entrancement. They each picked up a matchbook and tried striking them. Incendio was never a good idea while drinking.

"What's haunting you?" Harry had asked four times during the evening, but never gotten a straight answer. He was fairly certain that his professor had been lying about the pink elephant following him.

"You are. Light the damn thing!"

There was a spark and a flare as Harry finally managed to light his match, which he then set to both sugar cubes. They watched as the sugar burned, then dumped the spoons. The cubes fell into the glasses where they did not burn out.

"I can't drink that." Snape sounded offended as he watched the flames burn off the alcohol inside the cup.

Harry tossed the match onto the table when he realised that it was burning his finger, and they watched with dull interest as it found the other match heads. Snape had thirty seconds to contemplate what a neat reaction the little flare was as they lit, before blinking stupidly. Fire was a bad thing. Harry seemed to be coming to his senses too, watching the table start to burn. He grabbed his wand, pointed it the wrong way, and half shouted at the flames.

"Aguamenble!"

Snape started to laugh. His wand was in his hand, which had fallen to the side of him.

"Kreacher!"

The house elf popped in with an annoyed look on his face, and with a snap of his finger the fire was out. The parchment at the table had been destroyed, and there was a slightly acrid smell of smoke lingering. Kreacher regarded them with a disapproving look, and banished the alcohol as well, before vanishing.

"Stupid house elf." Snape muttered, before resting his head on the table.

….

It was eleven thirty am, and somewhere in the yard a bird was chirping. Snape wanted to hex it. Somehow they'd survived the night and he was inexplicably glued to the table. Not glued, apparently, as he tried to move himself and found that to be slightly possible. His head was just too heavy to lift. In his peripheral vision he saw a rag of messy black hair, and after five minutes of intense concentration, managed to lift his finger and poke said bush of hair. The table was told to fuck off, and Snape felt the vibrations of the voice through the wood to his cheek, which was still firmly planted on the table.

"Geddup. Meeting." Snape's tongue felt dry and thick, like a desert slug. Not even bothering to wonder if those actually existed, he successfully raised himself up and stared at the body lying sprawled out against the room, half sitting in the seat. He poked it again.

"Fuck off or kill me now."

Surprisingly coherent for a morning after, Snape thought. Maybe Potter had been through this before.

"Kreacher!" Snape bellowed, a little louder than he'd intended and causing them both to wince. "I'm not sober enough to enjoy killing you now."

An hour later, they'd each consumed a vial of sobriety potion, hangover cure, a nutrient potion, and had a shower. They were dressed and wearing sunglasses, both very stylish and extremely dark ones. Harry didn't dare mention that the hangover potion hadn't quite worked, but Snape had grumbled about the effects of absinthe being resistant to regular cures. For the moment, they'd have to do with a mild headache, motion queasiness, and sensitivity to the annoying sun outside. Snape was considering making a sacrifice to whoever controlled the weather so they could have at least an overcast day in Ottery St. Catchpole, and Harry thought it best to not remind him of the loudness or vibrant designs of the Burrow.

Getting to the meeting posed another problem. Apparition was out of the question, as Snape had scathingly concluded that Harry would splice himself six ways to hell trying to get there. Harry had sniped back that broom travel was also not an option, as Snape didn't have the balance required and Harry refused to act as a guard to stop Snape from impaling himself on the broom when he fell. It was either portkey or Floo they were left with, and neither option sounded ideal on their stomachs.

It was such that Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Arthur Weasley, and the rest of the Weasley children were slightly more than gob smacked to watch the fireplace flare green, two wizards spinning off kilter and groaning above the roar of the flames, clutching onto each other for dear life. They were spat onto the rug in a very undignified matter, and both immediately conjured buckets. There was some snickering from the men as they dry heaved over the buckets, but the matriarchs of the room stood stiffly, crossing their arms, and pursing their lips in anger. After a moment Harry sat up and noted that Snape was leaning against his back.

"Get off me." He gave a shove and pushed Snape back.

"Likewise, Potter. Heaven knows where you've been." Snape shoved him and moved to stand up, banishing the buckets.

"And yet, I'm still here." Harry accepted Snape's hand and was pulled to his feet.

"Of course you are, you little cockroach." They stood apart quickly, the glares they were trying to give negated by the sunglasses.

"Ahem." Minerva's cough was polite, but Snape could see both anger and amusement in her eyes. Molly Weasley, however, was turning red in annoyance.

"Are you both hung-over? What on Earth made you think that starting today with a hangover would be a good idea? Especially after what happened at the Ministry!" The words were hissed out, just like a mother cat, red hair standing on end. Any concern Molly had over Harry's injury had taken a back burner to her annoyance over their state.

George Weasley was trying not to smile, and Harry idly noted that the pain was worth it if he could make George smile again.

"Madame, we were still drunk when we woke up. Can we get on with the meeting?" Snape replied elegantly, trying to stand as straight as he could.

Harry and Snape gingerly walked into the kitchen, spelling the blinds down over the window and finally taking their glasses off. They sat at the table as the rest of the group walked in, and Molly caught the last of their conversation.

"No demons last night?" Snape muttered it under his breath.

"None." Harry sat back, pulling a bottle of something out of his pocket and waving his wand at it. The label disappeared before either Molly or Minerva could see what it had said, and they watched as he gave it to Snape. "But let's not use that method again. Christ."

"Agreed."

…..

The meeting started and nothing much new was reported, as it seemed the remaining Death Eaters had either fled the country or were deep in hiding. Harry was pleased to hear that the rebuilding of Hogwarts was proceeding smoother than they'd originally anticipated, as it seemed that some of the castle's magic was sympathetic and easily replicated to facilitate repairs.

After the meeting was over Minerva cornered both Harry and Snape again, intending to have a very frank discussion.

"Severus, Harry." She was met with silence, and could see that neither would offer any information.

"Oh for the love of Merlin, Severus Snape. I have been teaching with you for longer than I care to remember and I have never seen you in such a state."

She was met with a glare, and Snape merely crossed his arms, steeled against the imposing figure.

Harry giggled before he could help himself, and then snapped his mouth shut when Minerva turned on him.

"And you, Mr. Potter, may wish to keep quiet. I don't know what is happening to you two, but if this is your way of dealing with the war, use another method! Talk about it, write about, see a healer, use love if you have to! Anything has to be better than what you idiots have been doing."

"Love?" Harry's face was scrunched up in distaste, as he thought about the nights spent sleeping in the chair in Snape's room.

"Don't make that face at me, young man." Minerva scolded, missing the similar look of horror in Snape's eyes. "Like when you fight dementors. Just think of something. No more fist fights, and no more drinking as if you are trying to pickle yourselves."

They nodded silently and apparated out, pondering what exactly they were supposed to love to end the nightmares.

…..

The Prime Minister waited until it was precisely nine pm before going over to the portrait in the corner of the room; the dusty, faded, ugly portrait that he tried to avoid as a general rule. The little man in it was sleeping, and he wasn't sure how the polite way of waking him, so he rapped his knuckles on the wall beside the portrait, and cleared his throat. One eye opened.

"Could you please let Mr. Shacklebolt know that I would like to…meet with him?"

The man in the painting considered for a moment, and replied with a "Very well." He walked out of the frame, and the clock ticked loudly in the silence of the office.

After ten minutes, the man was back and made an official statement announcing the minister's arrival. The fireplace lit up in green light, and Kingsley Shacklebolt came spinning into view.

The discussion was short, and to the point. After the war was finished Kingsley had returned and told the Prime Minister what had happened, glossing over the finer details. The Prime Minister had been horrified, and oddly curious to know everything about what had transpired. He'd learned the names of the heroes, the dead, the traitors. More importantly, he'd become very curious and rather awed at the two foremost players of the war, both who were spoken of untold bravery, and cunning intelligence, one who was still facing trial for his deeds as a spy. He sighed and wondered if he was making the right choice, or just being paranoid by asking for them.

Their meeting was short, and the Prime Minister gave very little detail. Kingsley had known of the upcoming weeklong conference between the US President and the British Prime Minister, so little was needed the be filled in, save for the Minister insisting that though his fears were probably stupid, he would still like to run them by the experienced spies. Shacklebolt laughed at this description, and agreed to the meeting, warning not to expect much conversation. Kingsley stepped back towards the flames and the Prime Minister thanked him again.

"Thursday at nine pm, It's imperative it be confidential."


	5. Ch 5 Playing a Game

AN: I know this is rather out of character, but I'm enjoying myself.

Chapter 5 - Playing a Game

The table still smelled like absinthe a day later, but Harry made no move to spell away the scent. Were they destroying themselves? That's how Minerva had certainly seen the actions, but Harry wasn't sure. His head always felt a little crowded, and the freedom he thought he'd get once Voldemort was gone had never appeared. In fact, the freedom had taunted in him in his dreams.

No matter, he and Snape were comfortable living in the house. They still insulted each other daily, almost hourly, but they were comfortable insults and the verbal bantering made them feel at ease. Harry shook the warning voice of McGonagall out of his head as he walked into the living room, where Snape was settled on the couch and staring at the remote for the VCR. A movie had just started, the credits flashing across the screen.

Harry settled into the couch, glaring as he fought for one of the pillows to lean against, finally pulling one out of Snape's grasp. The show started, an old black and white film that had been adapted from a play.

"Is there really a street car named Desire?"

Harry watched with great interest as Marlon Brando walked into the little front room of the house on TV.

"Yes." Snape took a little glance at Harry and turned his attention back to the movie. "Potter, if you drool all over the popcorn you'll have to make us a new batch. And I'm not pausing the movie."

"_Hey Stella!"_

Snape put his empty root beer bottle on the table beside the couch, fumbling it a bit, glancing away from the TV, where Brando was standing sweaty in a torn undershirt. Potter was shifting uncomfortably on the couch, face slightly heated.

Three weeks of suspicions, confirmed. Snape smiled to himself.

…

They woke early, as was habit, and in the kitchen Snape made a show of pulling out his parchment list and crossing off an item. Harry sat, watching curiously, breakfast dishes soaking in the sink as the thunder outside growled at them.

"What are you scratching off?"

"Movie night." Snape replied, pretending to count items on his list. "Pick something for today."

"Any restrictions?" Harry asked, pulling his own crumbled sheet of paper out of his robe pocket.

"Something embarrassing." Snape answered, his lips upturned in an eerily similar way to when Harry had been standing in Snape's office during his second year, after the car fiasco.

Harry sat with his list in his hand, going over the items he'd noted. There were certainly ridiculous things on the list, but he wasn't sure what Snape had meant by embarrassing.

"Something that you would never ask Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger to help you with." Snape commented mildly, as if he'd read Harry's mind. The smirk was still there, and it worried Harry slightly.

"Oh, well. That's half the list." He offered a small smile at Snape, before rolling the parchment up. Gryffindor courage, coming right up.

"I'd like to go to a bar." It was spoken strong and as if Harry went to bars every week. Snape looked like Christmas had come early.

"Knock it off. Why are you looking at me as if I'm prey?" Harry crossed his arms, and then narrowed his eyes at Snape's change of face.

"I am keeping eye contact, which is polite in conversation."

Harry snorted and Snape gave him a Look.

"Just any bar? Or do you have other terms to this quest, like perhaps the type of bar?" Snape managed to keep his tone casual, but Harry wasn't buying it.

"Just a bar to go and dance. Not looking to pick up right now, of course. And it's not like I can go with my friends." Harry spoke rapidly at Snape, and feigned nonchalance.

"Of course. I do believe The Brass Knob in London would be suitable."

"The gay bar?" Harry blurted out, without the indignant look that would have been convincing.

"Game, set, match." Snape sat back and finished his tea.

"Fine, you know my secret." Harry grumbled. "So you'll come with me?"

"Yes," Snape rolled up his list, "but we will need to shop for clothing first. I refuse to go out in public with you dressed like some Muggle street urchin."

"Wouldn't want to embarrass you." Harry sweetly said. After a moment the grin left his face.

"You won't blackmail me with this, will you?" Harry was suddenly very serious, and Snape looked at him carefully.

"Potter, this is your home. You have defeated Voldemort and still you are _hunted_ by the Wizarding world. Any information I have learned as a guest in your home will not be used against you, as we agreed to earlier."

Harry exhaled a small breath.

"It's your home too."

Snape had never noticed how deep Harry's voice had gotten before, but it was pleasantly rich now. Not as deep as his own, but still nice. He pondered what Harry had said for a moment, not feeling insulted by it as he thought he would be.

"Yes, well. It would be rather hypocritical of me to blackmail you for your sexuality."

Snape picked up the Daily Prophet and started to flick through it, waiting for Harry to process what he'd said.

Harry muttered a soft "oh" down to his chest, and fought back the sudden urge to smile. Where had that come from?

"You're gay? But you never, I never… you always wear black! I thought gay people were supposed to be into fashion. And Merlin, what is with the hair?"

Snape arched his eyebrow up and thinned his lips. It was the best he could do to not to laugh. Holding up his fingers, he ticked off the points as he listed them.

"Yes, though I prefer the term homosexual, as I am rarely taken over with the type of glee associated with the archaic definition of gay. Secondly, not all homosexuals are dedicated to their wardrobes, and you are a fine example of that. Thirdly, do you really wish to insult the hair of a potions master? Lastly, black is slimming, and happens to be my favourite colour."

Harry burst into laughter, earning himself a patented Snape glare, which he ignored. After a full minute, he sat back and grinned.

"Black is a shade, not a colour, _sir_. And what's wrong with my clothing?"

Glad that the conversation was being kept light, Harry waited to be insulted. After spending so much time in the man's company, he didn't mind that much any more. He could tell by the tone that usually the insults were meant more to motivate.

"You dress like a boy. A boy who has no idea that a well made piece of clothing can not only last for decades," he glared at Harry's scuffed hems of his jeans, "but also make the wearer look distinguished and fit a certain personality that you wish to project."

Harry leaned forward and plucked Snape's robe off the back of a kitchen chair, holding it up as if to study it.

"Oh, I understand that effect. Ever since first year. You pull off batman in a spectacular fashion, even more convincing than Michael Keaton."

Harry did not even have a chance to start counting seconds before he found himself not only hanging upside down, but also wearing Snape's outer robe. He slowly swayed above his seat, in what he now recognized as the levicorpus jinx. Snape was sitting still, looking completely collected and flipping through the paper.

"Why Mr. Potter, I do believe you are doing a much better bat impression than I could ever manage."

Harry started to feel his head throb as the blood kept rushing to it. His hands found Snape's robe pockets, and he shoved his hands in, curious to see what the man normally hid in them.

"Ha ha. Put me down, before I have a stroke and you have to fix it."

Snape raised his eyebrow in annoyance, but flicked his wand anyway and returned Harry to his feet.

"A stroke? Did you learn anything about the human body in your entire academic career? You cannot just fix a stroke."

Harry grinned and moved toward the hall, still wearing Snape's robe.

"I'm on my feet again, aren't I?"

"Cheeky bugger." Snape muttered, putting the paper away and calling Kreacher to help with the dishes.

"Let's go clothes shopping then, I want to go out tonight," Harry called from the stairs, waiting for Snape to catch up. "You can order me around and tell me what I should buy. Just like old times."

"Hmph. So you won't listen now, either."

Harry chuckled again, entering his room to get showered. Snape waited until he heard Harry walk away from the door, which had been left slightly open. He whispered a soft "accio cloak," flicking his wand. There was a wicked smirk on his face as he heard Harry's rear collide against the floor, a very annoyed grunt, and a slight swoosh as the cloak landed in his hand.

….

After a quick safety discussion that left Harry no doubt as to how paranoid Snape was, they left the cottage to walk down towards the gate at the edge of the property. Snape had not been out to any town since he had arrived, as he was still not convinced that there were not people searching for him. However, they'd both ingested a customized polyjuice potion, and Snape had taught Harry an incantation that enabled him to speak with a flawless regional accent. The potion would have been illegal if the ministry had known of it, as it allowed them to change into features that they imagined, instead of just replicating another person. The change would last until the antidote was consumed. Harry's voice was a little smoother, which matched with the spice red hair he had now. His features were sharpened a little, scar hidden, the jaw more pointed, and without his glasses the bright blue-grey eyes that replaced the green ones remained startling. He wore one of Snape's robes, temporarily shrunken and changed to a dark green colour.

Snape, on the other hand, had gone for a very light grey robe set, with blood red trim. It had startled Harry at first to see Snape not wearing his customary black, but he had stuttered a "Merlin you look good" before blushing furiously and refusing to meet Snape's eyes. Snape had been pleased at the compliment, but kept his reaction hidden. His hair had been changed to a chestnut brown, and his grey eyes matched Harry's, his nose shrunken a little, and his features slightly softened. There was still the piercing glare in Snape's eyes, and Harry thought he looked stunning.

At the edge of the gate, Snape felt the wards pulse against them.

"Abersoch is the closest town to here?"

Harry nodded, his hand on the gate. "It's full of pretentious sailing prats though, and expensive shops."

"Has anyone ever come up this far?" Snape nodded towards the dirt road that passed by the front path of Cairn Hollow.

"No. Most are too occupied by sea sports to come climbing through the brush here, and to anyone not accepted to the wards the cottage looks like ruins anyway."

Snape twitched his lips in a half smile, before holding out his arm for Harry to take.

Cardiff had been busy that morning, but Snape had had no difficulty finding the Wizarding shopping district, and preferring to avoid seeing people they may recognise, he directed Harry there first. There was a shop for robes that took them in right away, and Harry merely followed orders while Snape picked out a plethora of things for him to try on. Contrary to Harry's fears, not everything was in black. There were a variety of styles, and Harry found one similar to the professor's style that he liked best. He bought four pairs of trousers in black and various shades of grey, that had well-concealed pockets and fit well around his frame, not loose like Dudley's old cast offs had been. Snape had also chosen three jackets for him to wear, mid calf length, with wand pockets in both the forearm and breast pocket. One was charcoal grey, one was a very deep blue, and the third was a blood red colour. The clothes would last for at least twenty years if taken care of properly, so Snape had refused to let Harry choose any bright colours or vibrant patterns.

"Earth tones never go out of style." He had glared, giving their purchases to the attendant to ring up.

After stopping quickly at the apothecary for Snape to purchase ingredients, they shrunk their packages and headed towards the gate that would take them to Muggle Cardiff. Harry started protesting after the third hour at St. David's shopping centre, but Snape simply ignored him and kept choosing clothing, picking out items for himself this time. Finally, at ten to twelve, they left the mall and found a quiet café.

It had started to rain again, and though it was the middle of summer, the dampness was starting to get to Harry. He ordered a large bowl of French onion soup, and sat back against the chair.

"I had no idea you were so thorough with shopping."

Snape sipped his water, waiting as well for his own French onion soup.

"When have you ever known me not to be thorough?"

Harry considered this and shrugged.

"Point taken. Thanks for your help, by the way. I've never shopped for my own clothes before."

"You still haven't." Snape replied, his eyes showing slight amusement. "I suppose that farce of a family you grew up with did not see it fit to purchase new clothing for you?"

Harry shook his head. "I wasn't worth the money." His voice had no emotion, as if this were a perfectly logical reason.

"I would think the Boy-Who-Lived would certainly be worth a few new articles of clothing."

"Don't call me that." Harry glared, and Snape could feel both annoyance and disgust radiating from him. He nodded once.

"As you wish. However, speaking of names, we need to discuss our public personas. Even in Muggle London we will be completely different people."

Harry chewed his lip, considering something.

"Fine. I'd like to be Henry. And I want to be at least twenty four."

"You look like you're barely twenty one, but I agree that older is a better idea. Henry will be easy to remember." The soup arrived, and Harry slowly spooned the melted cheese up.

"Who will you be?"

Snape shrugged, spooning apart his own soup.

"I shall think of a name." He suddenly pointed his spoon at Harry and shook it threateningly. "If you dare suggest the name Steven, I will not hesitate to hex you."

Harry gave a small smile of amusement.

"Who dared to suggest it before?"

"Dumbledore. Some mission I partook part of a decade ago."

Snape smirked as he remembered how he'd shattered the windows in the Headmasters office with wandless magic when he saw the name on his fake passport.

Harry took a small mouthful of soup, wincing as the cheese burnt a bit of his tongue.

"Simon."

"Pardon?" Snape was drawn suddenly out of his thoughts.

"Simon. The name suits you, and it's Muggle enough. No one will ever suspect that you're a terrifying potions master."

Harry mustered a grin while Snape narrowed his eyes.

"Eat your soup, idiot."

…

At quarter to ten, Harry was a bundle of nerves. He paced in his bedroom, dressed only in a pair of underwear, four outfits laid out on the bed. Snape had said the club was casual, so he could wear regular clothes and not stand out as inexperienced. He was just pulling on his jeans when a knock sounded on his door, and Harry permitted entrance.

Snape walked in to see Harry shirtless and just doing up the button on his jeans, which slung low on his hips, showing the black band of his underwear. Four shirts were on the bed, ranging from t-shirts to dress shirts. Snape blinked at the sight, trying to regulate his breath. Harry's spicy red glamoured hair had been spiked up, and the grey blue eyes glittered with nerves and excitement.

Harry turned to see what Snape was wearing and nearly dropped the bottle of cologne in his hand. Black muggle jeans, a simple army green ribbed shirt that was very snug on the lean body, short cropped brown hair, and a leather band around his wrist. Harry sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling a shiver go through him as he wondered when the hell his ex professor had gotten that good looking.

"Dress shirt, then?" Harry managed to spit out, grabbing a blue striped shirt and hastily throwing it on. He started to button it up hastily when Snape told him to stop.

"Leave the bottom two undone, and the top two as well." Snape summoned something and Harry's eyes never left Snape's face as a small black object sailed into the room. It was a thin tie, and Snape draped it over Harry's head, leaving it loose instead of snug. He left it flush against Harry's skin, before popping up the collar on Harry's dress shirt and then spinning Harry towards the mirror.

A huge grin split out on Harry's face, and he temporarily forgot the arousal he'd been fighting since Snape had walked into the room.

"Brilliant!"

Snape snorted and then fished into his pocket for something. He finally pulled out a small ring, and gave it to Harry.

"It's a safety device." Snape noticed Harry's immediate surprise at the ring.

"How on earth…?"

"I have the matching one. Swipe your thumb or finger over it, and say salvus. My ring will flash with heat, and I will come find you. If you wish the ring to be hidden, it will be, if you wish it to be visible, it will be."

Harry stared at the simple white gold ring, noticing the small snake that was engraved on it. There was a miniscule green jewel for the eye, which matched the colour of Harry's normal eyes. The ring was a very nice gesture, as Harry was very nervous to be in public again.

"Thanks."

"It also works to ward off unwanted Muggle attention." Snape added with a smirk, putting his own ring on and holding out his arm to apparate.

"How?"

"Flirting usually stops when one sees a wedding ring."

Harry sputtered, and they disappeared with a pop.

…

The night went fairly well for Harry's first time at a gay bar, and for the thick crowd that was there. He danced around and moved within the crowd, checking out the men around him, trying to keep his mind off of Snape. He had no idea why Snape was suddenly so attractive, but Harry suspected that it was the close living quarters that was playing tricks on him.

Snape stayed seated at the bar, preferring to watch over the dance floor while Harry moved about to the beat. Under their disguise no one had recognized Harry, and as the night wore on he grew a bit more comfortable in his skin. Just past one am, Harry found himself in want of a break. He had noticed a group of American men who had been checking him out in an unsubtle way from their section of the floor, and figured an escape to Snape for a drink would be in order. He didn't believe they were wizards, he just felt a bit uneasy.

As he made his way across the dance floor, the group moved as well, before pushing up against Harry.

"Hey!"

The voice belonged to a sturdy male who was shorter than Harry's polyjuiced height, with sandy coloured skin and yellow blond hair. He flashed a smile at Harry, full rows of perfectly straight white teeth. His arm went up to Harry's shoulder, and he leaned in close to Harry's ear.

"You're sexy, wanna dance?"

Harry shuddered inwardly. Over the music it would have been hard to hear anyone, and he was not especially happy that this man had gotten so close. Nor did he like the fact that the man was brushing against Harry.

"No thanks."

He said it without a smile, and nonchalantly ran his finger over the ring on his hand. "Salvus" was whispered, and Harry hoped he didn't need to say it loud for the spell to work.

The man pushed in closer to Harry, putting his hand on Harry's hip.

"Name's Kevin, just want to dance with you." The voice tried to sound innocent, but the intention in the eyes worried Harry. Where was-

"Henry."

An arm slithered down over Harry's shoulder, pulling him back against a strong chest. Snape's scent was a mixture of cologne and faint potion ingredients, and it was never more welcome to Harry than at that moment. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw the glint of the ring on Snape's hand that was resting against his chest, and he saw Kevin make a shrewd calculating look. Harry realized that if he wanted out safely, he needed to put on a show. Bringing his hand slowly up to the side of Snape's head, he made sure his own ring was visible and turned Snape slightly, before leaning in and kissing the underside of Snape's jawbone.

"Hi Simon."

Harry didn't know if it was the acting or the Death Eater glare that Snape was sending, but after thirty seconds Kevin held up his hands and backed off.

"Fair enough. See you around, _Henry_."

The music continued to pulse, but no one noticed two men sneak into the shadows of the club and disappear.

When they arrived back to Cairn Hollow Snape led them into the kitchen, where Harry stomped around in front of the fireplace.

"Why do I do that? All I wanted was a night out at a place where I wouldn't be the odd one out, and then I can't even defend myself against one person."

Snape leant back against the kitchen counter and was slightly distracted by a sweaty Harry Potter with only half his shirt done up.

"It's like I'm a fucking child. I defeated Voldemort! I should be able to get rid of one Muggle."

"You are certainly not a child."

It was a statement, not a reassurance.

"Pffft."

Harry's huff of annoyance normally would have irked Snape, but he ignored it for now.

"You're not. And after who you've been forced to face, I should be surprised that you wouldn't take comfort in having someone else look out for you."

Harry stopped pacing and stared at Snape. His glare was calculating, and Snape was pleased to see the anger had abated somewhat.

"I don't want to depend on another person for the rest of my life."

Snape smirked and he stood up straighter.

"Why not Potter? I've been saving your arse since you were eleven."

Not trusting his mouth to provide a quick retort, Harry gave Snape a one fingered salute and stomped up the stairs.

It had been a fun night, he had no issue admitting that, but he hated feeling like Snape had been obligated to protect him. Then again, the feeling of being held against Snape's chest had certainly been welcome and comforting. Was it that simple? He just wanted someone else to be the strong one?

Harry shook his head and climbed into bed, issuing a short prayer to Merlin and whomever else might be listening that he wouldn't be plagued with any dreams that night. He heard the floorboards creak outside the bedroom door, and groaned at the silky voice that rang out.

"Sleep well, Potter. We're going to meet the Prime Minister tomorrow."

Harry's eyes drifted shut and he wondered why on earth they'd agreed to Shacklebolt's meeting. With a low guilty feeling in his stomach he realized that he hadn't thanked Snape for taking him out and completing an item on his list. Tomorrow then, Harry thought, rolling over and absentmindedly rubbing his finger over the ring that was still on his hand.

Across the hall, Snape froze while trying to drag the covers over himself. His ring pulsed warmth, a slow heated feeling as opposed to the flashing burn when Harry was in danger. The pulse continued and settled into rhythm with his heartbeat. Perhaps he would sleep well that night after all.

….

Thursday came and the Prime Minister locked himself in the office at eight thirty. He walked through the small room, absentmindedly making the books on his bookcase flush with one another, trying to recall all the details he'd been told of these two men as he killed the time. He knew the one would be very young, having been destined to be a hero from a young age. The other he'd heard was a hard and very private man, an imposing spy who would give James Bond a run for his money. The clock chimed and he suddenly felt very nervous, and very ignorant. Exactly how does one properly greet wizards into their office? The other minister, Fudge, had just barged in.

The fireplace roared to life and the Prime Minister stood straight beside his desk. A black swirl appeared in the flames, and he stared without shame as a tall and thin man stepped out gracefully, his black suit only lightly dusted with ash. The topcoat went down to the man's knees, and the pants were fitted perfectly, all the way down to the black boots. Thin lips formed a straight line under a large slightly hooked nose, and shoulder length black hair framed the pale unreadable face. This must be the spy. The man took one step to the left of the fireplace and stuck his arm out, without saying a word to the minister. Ten seconds later the fireplace flashed green again, and a younger man stumbled out, caught by the arm. He was a bit shorter, with bright green eyes and a more muscular body. He was wearing a grey tweed jacked with a black shirt underneath and jeans. Kingsley had told him earlier that this man was just about to turn 18, but his face showed a very different timeline.

"Thank you for coming, gentlemen." He stuck out his hand to the older one first. "Call me David."

"Severus Snape."

"Harry Potter." Another handshake.

After declined offers of tea or a stronger drink, the Minister sat behind his desk and passed over two folders.

"I have your assurances that this will remain strictly confidential?" He watched the two intently, noting that the younger one was flipping fast through the folder, and that the older one was slowly reading the first page, keeping one eye on his surroundings as well. He received two nods, and silence. Kingsley hadn't been exaggerating about the lack of conversation.

"Next week the President of the USA will be coming here for a week long conference. We will discuss general topics regarding relations between our countries, but the more pressing topic will be regarding medical and disease research. The USA has always been following a very similar pattern of research topics and refusals, mostly following very conservative ideas." He paused for a drink, and they merely waited for him to continue.

"The team of top researchers hasn't changed in the past three years, except for this past May. Someone new was brought in, a younger man with the name of Kevin Krantz, who has a degree in microbiology, and has spent four years studying viral outbreaks in third world countries. He caught the attention of our secret service because not only is he relatively inexperienced compared to the other researchers on the team, but because word has gotten round that Krantz has been very influential with the President regarding what studies he is permitted to do. There's a list of them in there, and frankly, I find them unsettling."

He sat back and waited for both men to digest the information. Potter spoke first.

"You think Krantz is a wizard?"

Snape was studying the approved experiments, noting something disturbing with all of them, though he was also listening hard for the Minister's answer.

"I am not sure. I have only met a few er…wizards. But the circumstances are suspicious, as is his ability to talk the President into approving such dangerous studies."

"What is your proposal?" Snape finally asked, closing the folder and watching for Harry to do the same.

"I would like to hire you both. This is not a favour I'm asking, I am quite willing to pay, within reason, fees for your services. I would like you to be on staff as two of my own research team, for that entire week. You won't, obviously, be required to do any of the work that my scientists are doing at the moment, but rather attend all the social events, the conferences, and any meetings that come up. During this time, I would like you to study Krantz and see just exactly what he is holding over the President. Depending on his methods, he could prove dangerous to the Crown."

Snape stared straight at the nervous Minister, keeping steady eye contact.

"And the rest that you are not telling us?"

The Minister slowly opened a locked drawer behind his desk. He took out a package of confidential reports, and passed them over. Harry stood up and moved to sit on the arm of Snape's chair, so they could both read at the same time. The reports ranged in date from May of that year onwards, all detailing small outbreaks of illness in small prisons throughout the east coast and southern part of the USA, followed by a remarkably positive change in the prisoners' behaviour after the illness. Some of the details look similar to some of the results from the approved tests, though of course that research had never been released to the public. To Harry's simple deduction, it seemed as if Krantz had found a way to imitate the imperius curse in liquid form.

"I am afraid, that if this is linked the way I think it is, Krantz has found a way to chemically influence even the most violent minds."

Harry swallowed hard. He had hoped for a quiet summer, and now it looked like this would be anything but. At least though, in the Muggle world he wasn't known and they could set their own terms. Snape seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"If he is a wizard, you are correct in estimating a great deal of danger. We will require time to consider this task, as well as a fee if we do accept. How do you plan to explain two unknown researchers suddenly added to your government?"

The Minister shrugged.

"Create new identities for you. The SIS has done it plenty of times, and we'll just explain that you have been working for them for the past ten years, and therefore unknown. We have some generic study transcripts and personal histories that only need your names added to them. I will introduce you as private research employees of mine, working on a personal project. A bit of mystique, which will surely catch Krantz's attention. You'll have a flat here in London, close to the parliament, and be required to attend three or four social functions in order to engage in small talk with the American counterparts. Hopefully during these non-official times you are able to find out more information."

Harry nodded, and immediately concluded that the Prime Minister took a very interested stance in the position of his SIS agency, and the role it had in protecting the government.

"There is more however, and if you find this stipulation too much to ask, let me know now." The Minister fished through a file on his desk before taking out a certain picture of Krantz, and handing it to them. "Here, on the inside of his wrist. Every other picture has that particular spot covered by an article of clothing, but here it is visible. That tattoo there is the lambda, a Greek letter originally used in chemistry and physics to denote energy in equations. In the 1970's, it became the symbol for gay liberation in the USA. Krantz is from New York City, born fifteen years before the movement took hold, and in the past six months that we have had him under active investigation we have noted that he spends most of his free time in various gay bars in New York City. He is discreet, but very active within the homosexual community."

Snape took the photo and froze when he saw the face. Beside him he heard Harry's sharp intake of breath at the recognition. Neither he nor Harry said anything; waiting for the Minister to express exactly what the stipulation was, even though they already somewhat knew.

"We, meaning SIS director Alistair McThullen and I, thought it best if at least one of you pretended to be homosexual, if not both. Krantz has shown that he prefers to associate with people in the gay community, and we thought that this would be best in providing a way to get him to open up."

Harry considered this and then remembered how upfront and aggressive the man had been at the bar. Snape spoke up first.

"That may not work. There are many different types of homosexuals, and Krantz's tastes may run completely different from ours. He may feel intimidated by us, or try to dominate us."

The Prime Minister nodded.

"Yes, it is a risk. We've studied him though, and he doesn't seem to have any particularly weird kinks. Sticks to mostly younger crowds at the bars."

Harry snorted nervously, and nudged Snape's foot. He immediately looked up to Harry, and slowly raised his arm to the armrest, hand pointed at Harry, the dark wood of his wand only barely noticeable under his finger. He glared right into the younger man's eyes, and received a slight nod in response.

"_Legilimens_." It was whispered off the lips, and the Minister had not caught it. Instead, he was watching what looked like an intense staring match. Snape, instead of searching through Harry's memories, waited for whatever Harry had wanted to share to surface. It came fast, three distinct images. The first was of Harry caring for him while he was unconscious after the battle, the second was of Harry sitting alone in the stair of Grimmauld place, admiring Snape's skill as he gave a report to the Order, and the third, the brightest, was of Snape wrapping his arm possessively around Harry at the club. They were warm memories and Snape assumed Harry wanted equality and protection.

As Snape was about to nod, another flash of a memory slipped to the front, along with the feeling of panic. A dark memory, shadows not moving much, except for the heavy breath of a very large man in the background, and the briefest glimpse of Harry's face, teeth gritted and eyes determined to bear the pain of the arm hooked around his throat, holding him up. Then it was gone, and Snape wasn't sure if Harry had even realized he'd seen it.

There was a sinking cold feeling in his stomach, and Snape was determined to discuss that last memory later. He nodded to Harry, and turned back to the Minister, breaking the spell.

"You promise?" Harry asked, sitting back in his chair.

"Of course." Came the response, as Snape picked up his folder again. The Prime Minister looked blessedly confused at the whole exchange. Snape continued as if nothing out of the normal had happened, placing the photo of Krantz back on the table. The confused look did not go away.

"We will take the job, and you may introduce Harry and I as a married couple." Snape ignored Harry's kick to his foot. "This should ensure that Mr. Krantz, if you have read him correctly, will find another topic of discussion in common."

The Minister, finally understanding, nodded. The staring match had indeed been a form of communication. Both men suddenly stood, and the Minister noted that it was already half ten. They solemnly shook hands, and he watched as the wizards moved towards the fire.

"Tomorrow you shall receive our fee estimation, and if you accept, the details that you need to complete the false identification process." Snape spoke with command, and the Minister knew that he would be more than a match for Krantz. The fire flared green and he spoke an honest thank you before Harry stepped into the flames, and spoke in what the Minister thought was Welsh. The professor followed immediately after, speaking the same destination, leaving the Minister to ponder yet again about the Other World he knew so little about.

…

"Married!" Harry threw himself into the chair by the fireplace and summoned two root beers. Snape stood at the mantel, looking slightly amused.

"Would you rather Krantz think you were available?" He snatched a bottle out of the air and pointed a finger at the one Harry caught. "That's mine."

"It's my house, you git." Harry waved him off. "I only meant to pretend to be boyfriends. Now we have to pretend in front of Muggles that we tolerate each other."

Snape laughed, popping the top off his own drink. Harry would never be a good auror if he wasn't willing to pretend under such circumstances, and Snape intended to take full advantage of Harry's hesitance. They'd been openly mocking and insulting each other for weeks, and sexuality was the last topic to feast on. Snape took a step closer to Harry, as if circling his prey. His voice dropped low, and he saw Harry try to suppress a shudder.

"More than tolerate, you insolent whelp." He faced Harry's wingback chair and put the root beer down on the side table. There was a rather menacing gleam in his eyes, and he saw concern and curiosity in Harry's.

"We have to like each other." Snape put his arms on the rests of Harry's chair and leaned forward, pinning Harry down without touch.

"What are you doing?" Harry's eyes were trapped in Snape's, and his voice came out laboured.

"We have to compliment each other. We have to touch each other." Snape's hand suddenly moved and he traced a finger down the backrest of the chair, inches from Harry's cheek.

Harry's hands were clenched tightly at his thighs, the bottle of root beer shaking under his grip. Snape then glanced down, and Harry clenched his eyes shut, a mantra shouting through his mind. Don't get hard! Don't get hard!

"Waste my root beer and feel my wrath, Potter."

And then Snape's hand was on his, gripping the condensed bottle and sliding it out of Harry's hand in an utterly obscene manner. Harry's breath hitched again and he glared at the predatory smirk on Snape's face, before making up his mind. Two could play at this, and he'd had enough of being teased.

Harry gave a sweet little smile before reaching up and cupping Snape's face. The shocked look he received almost broke his concentration, but he kept his voice low and continued.

"We'll have to kiss one another."

Snape tried to keep the upper hand, but faltered when Harry grabbed his shirt and pushed Snape back, standing up tall again. Harry grinned when he saw that the fierce expression on Snape's face was not one of anger.

"Potter, you'd better be a better actor…"

Snape's voice sounded less confident than it usually was and he was cut off when Harry pulled him roughly flush against his body.

The contact was warm, boney, awkward, possessive and yessss Snape was hard too. Harry's insides cheered with triumph before he gathered Snape's hair in his hands and summoned his Gryffindor courage. The kiss was rough and wet, their faces meeting and lips moving together in an intricate duel, tongues darting along lips and seeking entrance. After a moment Snape gasped back to take some air, and Harry did another quick eye check. No anger in them, though plenty of confusion.

"That was passable for a performance."

Harry laughed and grabbed his root beer, walking towards the door and ignoring the erection straining his pants. He made it to the door and turned, offering a small smile.

"Ten points from Slytherin. I wasn't acting."

Snape waited until Harry was half way up the stairs before firing off a stinging hex aimed for the man's arse, and he sank into the chair with flushed cheeks, wondering how the game had been turned on him.


	6. Ch 6 Debut of Two Princes

AN: For the curious, there is a badly drawn sketch of Cairn Hollow (and the floor plan) linked on my profile page here. I'm sure that my idea of Cairn Hollow doesn't quite match everyone else's, but it at least shows what I imagined the cottage to be when I created it. Thank you for the reviews, they're quite nice little notes to receive as I edit the chapters. This is a very Muggle-centric bit of the story, and in the next chapter we'll see Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, and McGonagall again, as well as our two main characters getting much closer.

Chapter 6 - Debut of Two Princes

The Prime Minister was waiting in his office, teakettle boiling, when he heard an almighty crack. The pen that was in his hand had flown across the room at the noise, and the sudden appearance of two male wizards standing at the edge of his desk. At least they were on time, he thought, trying to calm his racing heart. He offered a weak good afternoon, and poured tea for them all.

Snape handed him a file folder, and sat down to enjoy the tea. The Prime Minister opened it, studying the documents inside. They'd been very thorough in inventing their past life, and the Prime Minister was impressed.

"Thank you, Simon."

"You'll find," Snape said with an amused tone, "that once you have read that short biography on us, that you'll feel you've known us for quite a while."

The Minister stared at them, still holding the paper.

"It is a little disconcerting." He admitted. Putting the paper down, he moved to the corner of his desk and picked up a small electronic device, which Harry recognized as a camera.

"The paper is charmed to act that way. We figured it easiest to naturally convince people that they have known us for quite a while." Harry looked accomplished.

"Yes, well. I'm rather glad you people aren't allowed to perform magic on us normally. Now, I need to take a picture of each of you for the identification cards, and you may wish to take some photos as well for your office. Most married employees here have a photo or two of their spouses on display."

Snape glared, but Harry put his hand on Snape's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"That's fine. We've already taken some photos and altered a few of them to be younger. If you need those for your records."

"Thank you, Henry. We'll just take these two pictures, and I will let you be on your way. There is a ball being hosted on Sunday night to welcome the delegation, and your invitation is in the package there on the desk, along with the keys and address of your flat."

They nodded and stood, the Prime Minister watching in fascination as two wands were drawn and were pointed towards their owners. A small spell was muttered and the men shuddered as if taking a cold shower. The Minister gaped when he saw the image of Snape and Potter disappear, bringing about the softer and more muggle looking Simon and Henry Prince. Harry's hair was a darker shade of red than it had been when he first thought of the disguise, with a slight curl as the tips reached his shoulder, though he still had the brilliant blue grey eyes. The pictures were taken, hands shook, and they departed together as the glamours fell, with a promise to be early for a quick meeting before the Sunday ball.

…

Privet drive was noisy in the summer evening, there were children screeching as they ran up and down the streets, televisions blaring through open windows, people sitting and talking loudly in their back gardens. With lip curled up in distaste, Snape followed Harry out of the tunnel walkway near the house, the only safe place for them to apparate to, headed towards number four. They were dressed as Muggles, Harry looking very comfortable in his jeans and polo shirt, and Snape decidedly less so in his khaki slacks and crisp black dress shirt. It was as casual as he'd get for this occasion, and Harry had picked out the colour of the pants.

They walked quickly up the drive, not fast enough to stand out, and knocked softly on the door. Snape looked in disgust at the perfectly ordered garden in the front and at how well everything seemed to match. There was absolutely no personality to this house. Harry's cottage spoke of warmth, comfort, history, and a cozy charm. It was hard to believe that the same man had grown up in this place.

There was no answer to the knock, as Harry had expected, so he quickly unlocked the door and allowed Snape in. They passed into the kitchen, Snape inspecting the house with great interest. It was very boring inside, decorated in generic big box store furniture. Harry started a small tour, showing Snape the upstairs bedrooms quickly, and laughing when Snape quirked his eyebrows at the bedroom with the deadbolts on the door.

"Dudley's second bedroom, it's where they put me after I got my Hogwarts letter."

Snape took a quick look inside and noted how decrepit the room appeared.

"What an odd choice of words, Potter." He murmured, following the man back downstairs.

Harry went into the kitchen to make some tea, leaving Snape to glare at the still photos on the wall. Three people featured in them, one stick thin and crotchety looking woman, and two over large simpletons. Potter was nowhere in the photos, and Snape had noted that nothing of his seemed to be anywhere in the house. He turned to go into the kitchen and noticed the cupboard door under the stairs, and that it had a small lock on it. While the kettle sounded closer to boiling, Snape took a quick look inside the cupboard. Cleaning supplies and ratty junk littered the floor, but Snape saw some broken child's toys on a shelf against the wall, and a faded crayon drawing taped up behind an old mop. "Harry's room," in childish scrawl. So the flashes of memory from occlumency lessons had been true.

He closed the door and returned to the kitchen, where the tea had just been made.

"Merlin Potter, have your relatives already been obliviated?"

Snape was glaring at the hutch in the dining room, where more pictures of the whale boy were on display, and still no sign of Harry.

"No. This is where Dumbledore left me to grow up."

Harry was smiling, but Snape could hear the hurt.

"Indeed."

They were interrupted by a loud bang in the hall, and the sounds of three people barging into the house. They were headed for the kitchen, and Snape reacted immediately.

Harry had just put his tea down when two sudden movements startled him. One was Snape, who was suddenly standing tall in front of Harry, and the other was the kitchen door banging open, revealing a red faced Vernon Dursley.

Snape, whom had seen many memories of the temperament of said uncle stood very close Harry with his hand on his wand, in a very protective stance.

"You!" Dursley's fist came up and was pointed at Harry from across the room. Behind him, Petunia and Dudley were just managing to squeeze into the room. They appeared very nervous upon seeing Snape and Harry.

"You've a lot of nerve coming back here, boy. And no more favours, I won't do anything for you!"

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"That, of course, won't be necessary, Mr. Dursley." Snape stood straight, and when he strode over towards the door, Vernon and Petunia seemed to realize just how imposing he was.

"Mr. Potter stopped being a boy a long time ago, though you don't seem to be of the capacity to notice such intricacies of life. You say you do not wish to give Mr. Potter any more favors? " His voice was silky smooth, and only Harry recognized it for the dangerous tone that it was.

"That's right." spit Vernon. "I've had enough of your threats. Let that evil thing find him, I don't care." Petunia nodded in agreement, though Snape sensed it was out of compliance.

"Too bad for you." Snape's voice sounded of indifference. He plucked a newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to Dursley. Not even Dudley could miss the huge title on the front of the paper. HARRY POTTER DEFEATS HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED.

"He's freed the wizard world and muggle world from war. We all, indeed, owe him something."

Harry's whispered "not you, sir" was only caught by Snape.

"During my time training Mr. Potter I became privy to an array of memories regarding his treatment here while growing up." Vernon stiffened, and Petunia began to wring her hands. "I would like nothing better than to make you feel every beating, every moment in hunger, and every humiliation. Unfortunately, Mr. Potter has an annoying condition known as a conscious." Snape looked distasteful at this fact.

"Now see here!" Vernon had finally found his voice, and was indignant at being accused of being improper. "That boy just needed a firm hand. It's not like we wanted to find him on our doorstep one morning."

Snape glanced at Harry, who just shrugged. "Dumbledore."

"Every time we've been in contact with you freaks something has gone wrong. I've just had to leave my home for almost a year! You and your filthy freak friend will leave now, boy, if you know what's good for you." Vernon tried to straighten himself out, tightening his cheap polyester tie and stomping his foot slightly on the ground.

"Good lord." Snape scoffed. "It's like another Malfoy."

Harry bit back a snort at the mental image of Vernon Dursley with long white hair and a pimp cane.

"Come on, we still have to finish your task today." Harry said, impatiently.

He stood taller next to Snape, and withdrew his own wand. He held it at his side, and felt calmer with it. Vernon looked even angrier than normal. Snape's wand arm twitched, and Harry heard the front door lock.

Just before another word was said to break the silence, Dudley looked up in amazement at Harry.

"You died, to save the world?"

"Obviously didn't do it right, if he's still here." Vernon snorted.

Harry heard a small growl from beside him, and nodded to his cousin.

"Thanks, Dud. You, er, may want to leave now." The now was not a suggestion, and Dudley fled to the living room. Snape then spoke in very cold and even tones, leveling what Harry guessed was his best Death Eater glare. Indeed, even without his full black robes, Snape looked terrifying.

"He is still here. Lucky for me. As your blood relation, he can choose whether or not to charge me for what we're about to do."

Snape flicked his wand, and the Dursleys found themselves stuck to the wall. Harry slowly raised his wand at them, arm shaking with trepidation. Snape placed his hand over Harry's; fingers holding the wand steady with Harry's. The grip was warm and comfortable.

Together, they slowly chanted.

"_damnum obliviate" _

The room went black, and five minutes later they left the house, walking close enough to brush against each other. For the rest of their lives Vernon and Petunia Dursley would not remember Harry, but they'd never be able to shake the empty feeling that something important was missing from their lives.

…..

Harry chose the movie that night. The weather had decided to not provide rain on a Saturday night for once, so the garden doors were slightly open to allow the warm air to penetrate the room. Snape fidgeted with the VCR and finally stood back as the movie started, walking backwards towards the couch and hitting his legs against the back of it. He sat down with a thump and flicked his wand at the lights, lowering the room into darkness. Harry stumbled towards the couch in the dark, a bowl of popcorn in one hand and two root beers in the other. On the screen, a blue alien was exploded into goop.

Harry sat back on the same couch, offering the root beer over. The popcorn was fought over, and they settled in to watch two men dressed in black try to stop the world from being attacked.

Halfway through the movie Snape summoned a blanket and threw it over them, not bothering to close the door because the breeze was nice. Harry put the empty bowl on the floor and pulled his feet up, pushing against Snape's thigh with his toes, playfully shoving.

"Potter."

"Snape."

"You'd better be drunk because if you are trying to get your toes in my lap, I will not hesitate to break them."

"Nope." Harry flexed his foot and dug into the couch, finally stopping when both feet were partially under Snape's thigh. "Ah. That's what I wanted."

Snape raised his eyebrow at Harry, and cuffed him on the back of the head at the next comment.

"Finally, a warm blooded Slytherin."

….

"We need a way to communicate."

It was a blunt sentence, carried in the "you must know what I am speaking of, lest you be even more idiotic than I thought" tone of Snape's. A habit that infuriated Harry, but one that he hadn't figured out how to avoid without replying to Snape with anything not dripping in sarcasm.

"Of course. Spoken English is clearly not working for us."

"Sarcasm is not becoming on you, Potter."

Harry bit his lip to keep his mouth shut for the second round. Instead of retorting with something to earn him another insult, he popped the movie out of the player and put it back in its sleeve.

"The Muggle world will be difficult to carry regular conversations in, and we cannot do much magic, to avoid being tracked. If this Krantz person is a wizard, we will need to find a way to freely communicate and not be over heard nor discovered."

Snape folded the couch blanket and banished the bottles and bowl back to the kitchen, acting as if his train of thought had been easy to follow all along.

"Right." Harry replied, thinking a bit.

Snape narrowed his eyes before turning to go up for the night. "Don't strain yourself, Potter."

"I might have something. I'll have to work on it a bit, though, and it won't be ready for tomorrow." Harry was muttering to himself, not paying attention to Snape whatsoever.

Over the summer break of Harry's fifth year he'd been staying at Grimmauld Place with the twins, acting as a test subject for some of their experimental jokes. They'd never figured out how to stop the Second Hand Exam Brain charm from broadcasting the answers to all in the room, instead of just the intended person, but Harry thought it could be what they were looking for. They'd originally charmed quills to test out the magic but those were quite regulated during exams and so had settled on a small pin that could be worn on the school robe. The charm was intended to provide a two-way channel of communication with a pre-recorded set of answers, wherein the exam taker could strongly think of the question, the machine would pick up the inquiry through the charm, and provide a pre-recorded answer in response.

It would be brilliant, had it worked. However, the charm still sent out the equivalent of a mental radio broadcast, and Harry had little experience in charm inventions to work with. Fred and George had put aside the project when the war had really started, and as far as Harry knew, all the notes were still sitting organized in the back office of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Rushing to the door and pulling his cloak over his shoulders, Harry yelled out a quick "back in a bit!" before apparating out to the office of the shop he was shareholder of.

….

Harry was wearing a brand new suit that Snape had chosen for him, a deep slate grey colour with a black dress shirt and a crimson tie that set off his hair colour. The matching red handkerchief in his pocket had a tiny golden snitch embroidered on it, which had made Harry grin when he first saw it. Snape was sitting next to him, wearing his own black suit, cream coloured dress shirt, deep green tie and matching green handkerchief. Harry had fumbled with his wallet when Snape had first come out the bedroom at the flat dressed up, and he'd been stealing furtive glances at the man ever since.

The dinner was nice, and they hadn't been forced to speak too much. It had been explained that for the recent duration of their research they had been traveling between a few countries, and were solitary people for the most part. After the food had been cleared though, curiosity had overcome some of the crowd and press. Snape finally had enough and lead Harry to the dance floor, wishing to escape inane questions.

"Do you know how to dance?" Snape asked, taking Harry's hand into his own.

"Not at all." Harry nervously grinned, placing his other hand lightly on Snape's hip, letting the older wizard lead. They moved gracefully around the floor, Snape taking note of other associations in the room, Harry concentrating on how warm Snape's body felt so close to his, preferring that distraction so that he wouldn't think about what his feet needed to be doing.

"I unfortunately have not solved the problem." Snape suddenly whispered, having leant in a little towards Harry. Harry's concentration shattered and he stumbled a fraction, before being caught and pulled flush against Snape's chest. The song was slow, and the floor had opened up considerably. Harry noted that both Krantz and the Minister, along with several others, were studying them. Krantz had recognized both Harry and Snape from the club, but had kept back with his group of colleagues, and Harry was afraid that he'd corner them near the end of the night, when there were less people around.

"We're being watched." He murmured, leaning his head into the crook of Snape's neck. He was not much shorter than Snape, and he was surprised at how good the feeling was.

"Indeed, Henry. Hence the communication need." Snape's sarcastic tone sounded much lighter than it usually was, as if he was almost enjoying himself. The song was drawing to a close, and Snape leaned his cheek against Harry's hair. Harry smiled, and then stiffed slightly as he saw Krantz start to move towards them.

"Game on, Simon." He whispered softly into Snape's neck, before giving the same spot a soft kiss. He pulled out of their embrace at the same time that Snape's startled reaction flickered through his body, unnoticed to the rest of the room.

They sat back at their own dinner table, Harry and Snape both with a glass of wine, and Krantz with his own glass of champagne. Theirs had been spelled to remove the alcoholic effects, as both wanted to be fully alert this night, though it was already getting quite late.

"Such a small world, Henry. Imagine my delight to discover that you'd be working here on one of the research teams."

The introductions were made again out of polite conversation, only this time Krantz seemed to be focused on Snape too, the predatory look in his eyes of a different calibre than the one that he'd been watching Harry with at the club.

"The Prime Minister assures me that you are at the forefront of your field in the studies of the human mind. A master, if you will, of emotional control, and the ability to directly read people." Krantz had an easy smile, one he liked to flash to assert confidence and trust. It reminded both Snape and Harry again of Lockhart, and Snape's wand hand involuntarily twitched against his thigh.

"The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure, Mr. Krantz." Snape's tone was even, though Harry felt the warning that was there, just as he had the first time Snape had told him that. Krantz, however, missed it.

"Well not naturally, no. However, I've heard that you've isolated enough of the brain to have produced a medicine to calm someone immediately. Not a wonder drug, but an honest to god control of emotion. Imagine if you could not only calm people, but elicit other emotions as well." Krantz was excited, but Harry noted that he hid it well.

"It would be remarkably foolish, Mr. Krantz, to assume that I currently have that level of control over someone." All that fancy speech over a simple calming draught. The wand hand twitched again, and Harry caught it before it had reached Snape's breast pocket, where Harry knew the wand was hidden somewhere. He squeezed Snape's fingers in his own and returned the hand to resting on Snape's thigh, but did not let go of the grip.

"Simon, please." Harry looked at him with what he hoped Krantz saw was a small plead. "My husband, Mr. Krantz, means to say that we have of course not concluded anything concrete from our work. It is, as you know, tedious and skirting around legal and ethical lines drawn by society."

Harry's smile was easy, and Snape wondered when the boy had become such a diplomat.

"Yes of course, Mr. Prince." Krantz was flashing them a brilliant white smile again. "That's why we're all fortunate to work on these research teams, with permissions granted directly from the heads of state themselves." He waved towards the head table, where both the President and the Prime Minister sat. "I am very interested to hear more regarding your study, however, as I believe that your focus falls rather close to what has been a personal project of mine for many years. I have also heard that you are both remarkable men to work closely with."

Harry got an uneasy feeling in his stomach, unconsciously grasping Snape's hand a little harder.

"You may be welcome in the laboratory for a very short visit at one time this week."

Snape had put his mask back on, and kept his tone controlled. Krantz regarded them with a long gaze before taking a slow drink of his champagne. Harry fought hard to not visibly shudder.

Snape seemed to have sensed it, and suddenly Harry heard a small beeping noise. Marveling at the wandless magic, Harry watched Snape take a pocket watch from his jacket and then stand, pulling Harry up with him. Snape offered his hand out to Krantz to shake once, before moving it to the small of Harry's back.

"I'm afraid for now, however, Henry and I must take our leave. Another stage to complete in an ongoing experiment, you understand." Krantz had stood too, looking a bit put out by the interruption in conversation.

"Surely you have assistants to help with that, no?"

"I do not trust assistants. Good evening." Snape was firm, and lead Harry away from the table. Harry's smile towards the other guests was genuine, and for more than the first time this summer, he was very glad to have Snape with him. They passed the head table quickly, each giving a slight bow to the Prime Minister and their apologies for taking leave early. Experiments to attend to, of course.

…

Fenton Greeley walked through the Muggle streets of London with a small bag on his back, slowly cataloguing over in his mind the events of the past week. Fudge had been checking up on him periodically, never giving any warning, but leaving very strong hints that if he did not manage to find where Potter or Snape was hiding, that he could find another country to live in.

First it had been the demands to write damaging articles about them, which had grown more desperate as the summer passed with neither Potter nor Snape rising to the bait and responding, other than Potter's little speech to the press in May. Fudge was losing whatever mental facilities he'd had to begin with, and Greeley couldn't yet figure out why this was so important to Fudge. Surely it couldn't just be revenge for being proved a fool politician?

Lost in his thoughts, Greeley brushed by two hurried men in dress suits walking by, the shorter with red hair mumbling an apology while the older one merely glared. He shook his head and turned the corner, headed toward the tube. A curse against Fudge was sounded at every step.

….

After arriving back at the flat, Snape put on the kettle for tea, as Harry shrugged out of his dress clothes. Upon returning to the living room, he found Snape sitting there with two mugs of tea, and two small bottles. He waved to the chair beside him, and Harry sat down. The fire was burning well, and the room had lost it's chill.

"You did well tonight." Snape started, sounding a bit unsure of giving the compliment. "However, your reaction to Krantz concerns me. He may try to isolate you in order to get more information, as he now knows I am rather protective."

Snape looked pensive, and Harry bit his lip hard so that he wouldn't laugh at the sudden image of Snape as a black robed guardian angel.

"I want to know about that last memory from the Prime Minister's office."

The sentence killed any amusement that Harry was trying to hide, and he felt painfully sober.

"You have two choices," Snape continued, "we will just have a calm discussion, but if you need more than that, there is firewhiskey in this bottle, or veritaserum in this one. Either way, I need to know as it seems it may affect our mission."

Harry looked panicked, and stared at the bottles in front of him. All of a sudden he was very tired, and wanted nothing more than to just sleep for a few days. The firewhiskey was tempting, but he knew that there were quite a few things he could do while drunk that would cause untold damage to his pride, and possibly physically as well. He did not want to consider the after effects of jumping his professor. However, while the veritaserum would elicit a similar reaction it would at least just be a verbal confession.

Snape was watching him with what briefly looked like concern in his eyes. It unsettled Harry further, and so he reached for the firewhiskey. A shot of that should give him courage, whereas the veritaserum would probably spill his entire life's secrets out, and he could do without that right now. He poured the firewhiskey in both glasses, and offered a mock toast.

"To the Princes." Harry proclaimed, not breaking eye contact with Snape. Harry shuddered at the taste and made a particularly strange face when the whiskey burned like a firecracker down his throat. Snape had sipped his slowly, and Harry wondered if this was the smarter idea. No matter now, he refused to get drunk. He steadied himself in the seat, sitting back, pulling a blanket over him, and finally made eye contact with Snape.

"I can't tell you."

Harry had expected an explosion, but it seemed that Snape actually had some patience in him.

"Due to a threat?"

Harry blinked. For sure, Snape would think of something that hadn't occurred to Harry to be afraid of.

"No." He replied, before continuing, "I'll show you. It's not an actual memory, I don't think. Just a very familiar dream."

Snape gave a slight nod and reached for his wand. "Legilimens."

_The large man was back, face still in the shadow as he grunted behind Harry, one arm held tight around the throat while the other hand roughly moved down the front of Harry. Harry wasn't making a sound, though Snape could see blood on his bottom lip from where he'd bitten through the skin. The room was dark, though Snape could see ugly generic muggle furnishings in the background and both Harry and the man were thankfully clothed. He felt sickened at the sound of panting, a small grunt of pleasure, and then the sight of a hand that dealt a stunning blow to the side of Harry's head. Then it went black._

_The scene shifted to Gryffindor Tower, the dormitory room with seven boys all sitting around the heater in the center of the room. It was late at night, and Snape could see bottles of butterbeer lying around; someone must have snuck into Honeydukes for this little party. Fifteen year old Harry sat on his bed silently, watching the conversation and listening to his friends vulgarly debase the girls in their classes that they'd grown up with._

"_Hey Harry!" Seamus was the loudest, and apparently most randy of the group, "How far'd ya get with Cho, eh? Famous person like you, I bet she'd suck you right off like that." He finished, with a snap of his fingers._

_Harry's face turned slightly red, but the boys hadn't noticed. The conversation moved to those in other houses, and soon enough jeers and taunts filled the room. _

"_As if I'd let any tosser near me!" Dean Thomas declared loudly, waving his drink around. "If any shirt lifter tried to flirt my way they'd find themselves blasted away so fast they wouldn't know what would hit them. I love being a wizard!"_

_Somewhere in the back of the memory Seamus laughed._

_On the bed, Snape saw Harry offer a ghost of a smile and pull his legs up to his chest. _

He snapped out of the memory and found the real Harry in the same position, lost in his thoughts. Snape poured him a very generous shot of firewhiskey, and he declared the talk over, telling Harry they'd talk about it very briefly later. Snape got up, summoning sheets for the couch and dimming the lights. He offered Harry the bedroom, citing stress from the evening as a reason for a good night's sleep.

Potter, being a stubborn Gryffindor, refused, and passed out on the couch twenty minutes later.

…

It was three thirty am, and Snape was having a hard time sleeping. The flat was in a busy part of London, and after two months at Cairn Hollow, he was not used to the noise. Turning over in the bed, Snape had just shut his eyes again when he heard the hoarse yelling.

Snapping out of bed and walking out to the living room, Snape had his wand drawn out of habit. He fumbled until he found the light switch and stared at Harry contorting on the couch. His mouth was open in a plea, a mixture of yells and no's coming out of him.

Putting his wand away quickly, Snape moved to the side of the chesterfield. Harry continued to thrash and protest, and Snape knew that Harry's throat would be very sore in the morning. He leaned over the couch and grasped for Harry's shoulders, narrowly avoiding being punched in the face by an errant fist.

"Potter! Potter, wake up!" Nothing. Snape's brain was rapidly flipping through his memories of schooling to figure out the best way of waking him. But this wasn't a regular nightmare, he could see that already. It had been a while since Potter had had a night terror at the cottage.

"HARRY!" Snape pinched Harry's forearm, then the top of his thigh, but still got no response. Grunting as he fought to keep Harry's arms from clobbering him, he lifted the smaller man's upper body and slid into the couch behind him, wrapping his arms around Harry's torso. Fumbling for his wand, Snape summoned the calming drought that he had unpacked earlier. It was a bit of a struggle to get the cork open, but he managed and got most of the potion down Harry's throat. They sat there for a few moments longer, Snape clutching Harry very close against him, and softly humming an old Irish tune his mother used to sing him as a child.

"Water." It was half whispered, half croaked, and it was the first sign of consciousness from Harry. Snape conjured a glass of water and offered it, but still stayed with his arm firmly wrapped around Harry. With their closeness he could feel Harry's slowly calming gasps for breaths, an occasional shudders as he gulped the water down.

"What happened?" It was a simple question, and Snape was glad to hear it. Harry was fully awake. He'd have to make a note in his potions journal; as people with night terrors cannot usually be woken during the terror, not to full consciousness.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter." Harry's hands were shaking but he leaned back a little against Snape. "I would like to know what happened as well."

Harry shivered, and shook his head. Snape couldn't tell if it was because he was embarrassed, or because he couldn't remember.

There was silence in the room, and then Harry mumbled something about dementors, an empty world, and a heavy fat man. It was obvious that Harry was starting to fall asleep again, so Snape poked his shoulder and told him to go to the washroom. After stumbling back out, Snape steered him away from the couch and towards the bedroom.

The covers on Snape's bed were thrown back, and Harry was shoved down into bed. For once, Snape noted dryly, he didn't object to Snape controlling him. Snape climbed in the other side, and nox'd the lights.

"We've both lost enough sleep tonight. Kick me in your sleep, and you'll wake up in a full body bind." Snape muttered, and the only response he received was warmth, when Harry curled up against him.

….

In the morning they spoke not a word of the events of the night before, as was their custom after either had had a nightmare. Breakfast was a simple cereal and tea meal, as they were due at the office at eight thirty. Snape made sure that some photos of them were packed for the office, and Harry took his time trying to figure out what to wear. He was still shaky from the previous evening, so Snape packed two calming draughts in his briefcase. He watched Harry shove some old books in his rucksack, and together they headed out to work.

Their office was a small one in a corner wing not too far from the Prime Minister himself. Snape had spent most of his morning there taking notes on the different properties of the ingredients for his custom healing salve, hoping to improve it enough to get rid of the dark mark. Harry had been studying an old charms textbook, for reasons Snape had yet to figure out. It kept him quiet though, and that was fine with Snape. That was, until Harry slammed the book down triumphantly, scattering his notes across the desk.

"I've solved the riddle."

Snape glared. "Yes. His name was Tom."

"That's not what I meant, you git." Harry shook his head in exasperation. "Here. We can communicate through the rings." He passed the book over, along with his notes.

Snape read over all the production notes, and Harry smiled to himself, quite pleased. The charm they'd developed over the summer was fine; it turned out to be the object that was the problem. The spell had to be attached to something strong and personal, worn on a daily basis as if part of the body itself. A pin on a lapel was too impersonal and thus the messages weren't focused on just the intended. Instead, by using the rings that Snape had provided for protection, Harry and Snape could achieve mind communication that was controlled and even had a form of on-off switch. The thumb swipe over the ring would activate the messaging, as Snape had already spelled the rings to respond to that stimulus.

The rings would pulse if the connection had been broken and a new message was waiting. It would take fifteen minutes to properly spell the rings, but other than that, neither could see a reason why the charm wouldn't work. Grudgingly, Snape offered Harry a small "good job", before locking the office door with his wand and putting up silencing wards.

Taking the ring back from Harry, Snape put his matching one on the table and together they invoked the spells. After a quarter of an hour, the rings glowed red, then green, and then blue. Harry picked his back up, and felt warmth through it.

"Where did you get these rings?" He asked, sliding it back onto this ring finger, watching Snape twirl his ring in his fingers.

"They are the Prince family bonding rings."

Harry swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. These were real bonding rings, and probably one of the few heirlooms Snape had from his mother's family. Why on earth he had trusted Harry with it was beyond him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He blurted, blushing at the outburst.

Snape shrugged and seemed a bit lost in his thoughts.

"You'd have been as good as dead if you'd lost it, so there didn't seem much point." The threat behind the words wasn't there, and Harry smiled. He slowly swiped his thumb over the ring, feeling it grow hot on his hand.

_Glad to see that hasn't changed._

It was a simple thought, but it startled Snape out of his trance.

**It works.**

A simple reply, but this time Harry's grin went from ear to ear. He'd done it, they could now communicate through the rings and their minds. His stomach grumbled it's approval for lunch, and Harry felt almost as accomplished as when he'd defeated Voldemort. This little mental challenge he'd solved all on his own. Well, almost. Harry smiled a sad little smile of thanks to Fred, and a smirk to George, wherever he was. Had they figured this out before O.W.L. time they could have made a fortune.

**And been expelled, though not before having to scour the entire dungeons with a toothbrush.**

Harry looked momentarily worried before he stood up and went towards the door, a smile on his face again. He wondered how Snape's mind could replicate the annoyed tone of his voice so well.

"You didn't happen to pack any occlumency books, did you?" Harry asked, waiting for Snape to join him.

…..

Lunch in the cafeteria was a grilled chicken sandwich monstrosity that Snape eyed with a bit of disdain. Tomorrow they would pack a lunch. It was a busy place, and there didn't seem to be many free tables available, though Harry had managed to snag two empty seats in a quieter corner. At the other end of the table were a group of interns, who showed no interest in overhearing their conversation.

_We need to test this._

**We already have.**

_No, I mean in a crowded area._ Harry waved his hand at the others, watching to see if anyone had picked up on their conversation. _When we developed this … convenience, we had issues with it speaking to everyone, instead of just the intended._

Snape smirked at Harry, and then glanced at the door where the American research group had just entered.

"Of course you did, Henry. Wouldn't want to do things properly the first time, would you?"

"Mm, it was alright. Not all of us can be afraid of failure."

Harry was leveled a glare and he returned to eating his sandwich. The chicken didn't taste too horrid.

"May we sit here?" The voice was soft, the accent strong, but it wasn't Krantz. Robert Taylor, if Snape remembered correctly.

"Of course." Snape replied with disinterest, subtly studying the man. Perhaps he could get another perspective of Kevin Krantz from one of his colleagues.

"We met only briefly yesterday, I apologize. I'm not one for parties. Robert Taylor, but feel free to call me Bob." He offered his hand to Harry first, and then Snape.

"I believe that was more of a social show off than a party, Mr. Taylor." He paused, ignoring Harry's look. "Simon Prince." Harry kicked his foot under the table.

**Ten points from Gryffindor.**

"Henry Prince. And please excuse Simon, old professor habits are hard to break." Harry's voice had his diplomatic sweetness that irritated Snape to no end, partially because it worked so well.

"A professor? No wonder you look so distinguished. We see in the movies how well the English dress, but I must admit, I am a little jealous. I could not pull off the look so well." Taylor seemed happy with the conversation, and Harry was biting back a laugh.

_He's right. You look positively edible in that tweed jacket and dress shirt._

This would be a lesson in self-control, Harry mused, while receiving the mental equivalent of thirty sailors cursing in his head. Taylor didn't notice, and certainly would have been shocked at the vocabulary, so at least their experiment was a success. Definitely not broadcasting.

….

Other than meeting the full research team and having to listen to two painfully long seminars regarding the US advancements in human chemistry, their first day working for the Muggle government was rather boring. They had watched Krantz take as many notes as he possibly could during the speeches, and peculiarly during the tours of the labs as well, but hadn't seen anything overly suspicious. The President was staying as a guest with the Prime Minister, Krantz could not be interfering or infiltrating during the evenings.

For now, they just sat in the flat and stared at the walls. Seven pm was far too early to turn in, but as Snape had noted, there were appallingly few books available to read.

Harry idly wondered if Snape would remember that it was his turn for the bedroom tonight, when the older man got up and walked towards the little kitchen nook. Harry heard the kettle boiling a few minutes later, and his thoughts drifted back to the night before. Perhaps he should let Snape have the bedroom again, he thought with embarrassment. Suddenly a mug of tea appeared in front of his face.

"Thanks."

Snape sat in the chair across from him, studying Harry's features.

"I have some questions."

Harry snorted, burning his lips on the hot tea.

"Of course you do."

Snape said nothing for a few moments, preferring to stare at Harry and make him feel very uncomfortable. Harry finally got fed up with the silence and put his mug down on the table. He stared at his finger, and reluctantly removed the bonding ring, placing it next to his mug. The presence in his mind left, and he felt a little disheartened with the loss.

"What do you want to know?"

Snape took a long sip of tea. "You may put that back on. I will not read your mind." Harry didn't move and waited for the question.

"What is your favourite movie?"

Harry blinked in surprise, not expecting that at all. He sat back to think it over, not having seen many movies to begin with.

"I've never been to a theatre, but I saw Indiana Jones on TV once. That was a good movie."

Snape nodded as he considered this. Harry jumped with his own question.

"What's your favourite book?" Snape put consideration into this, and Harry sensed that he was not rushed at all this evening.

"I don't know if I have one. I am rather fond of Poe and Kafka, however."

"Muggle authors?" Harry was surprised, and didn't bother to hide it. Snape rolled his eyes.

"One muggle, one wizard."

"Oh." Harry sipped his tea, suddenly grateful that he was not being forced to answer questions. Yet. He picked up his ring and carefully put it back on. "What's your middle name?" He suddenly blurted in distraction.

Snape raised his eyebrow, but answered anyway.

"Éamon. My mother was Irish."

Harry looked at him with some confusion. "Don't wizards usually have their father's middle names?"

Snape glared, and Harry looked at his feet while blushing furiously, remembering the memories of Snape's father that he'd seen in fifth year.

"Indeed." Snape waited until Harry looked up at him again. "What do you see, Mr. Potter, when you encounter a dementor?"

Harry involuntarily shivered in his chair, reaching for the hot mug. "I hear my mother." He mumbled, refusing to meet Snape's eyes. "I hear her begging, screaming. And then I hear Voldemort laughing."

There was silence for a long time. Harry finished his tea, and watched the sun set through the west window.

"What's your worst nightmare, Snape?"

That was an easy one.

"The night I joined the Death Eaters. There is a two minute ritual before taking the mark, and in those two minutes, I see everything I did as a Death Eater flash before my eyes."

There was bitterness to Snape's tone, and Harry marveled at how one bad decision had ruined the next twenty years of Snape's life. Then again, at least Snape had had the choice.

"What was your nightmare about last night?" Snape's voice was calm, and Harry suddenly realized that Snape would not use any of this information against him.

"The world. Hogwarts destroyed, Muggle London, all the places I've ever known, completely empty. I see that man, the one from the dream, reflected in windows and mirrors, but otherwise there's no one there. It looks like now, early evening when the sun is dying, and there's the same chill that I get from dementors. There's no sound, because there is no one else there. And right before I wake up screaming, I think of something stupid."

Harry was looking at the fireplace, and didn't see the concern in Snape's eyes.

"I think about going into The Three Broomsticks and ordering a butterbeer, and then I realize I can't. Because there is no more Three Broomsticks. Butterbeer no longer exists.

They did not need to flip a coin over the couch that night. Harry fell asleep around midnight, twisted under the bed's covers, his back against Snape's.

…

There was a tap on the windowsill in the kitchen at six am, a handsom barn owl peering through the semi dark room. The latch on the seventh floor window had been left open and the owl nudged it's way through, dropping the letters in his clutches on the table, sneaking a quick snack of the forgotten biscuits sitting by the tea tray. It slipped out again to the cool morning air after a few minutes. She had told him not to wait for a reply.

In the small bedroom across from the kitchen two wizards slept on, the younger now curled up behind the older, arm possessively wrapped around the man's middle, and face burrowed somewhere in the depths of shoulder length black hair.


	7. Ch 7 Trial and Friction

AN: This is a bit shorter than usual. Hopefully the progression here doesn't seem too out of character.

Ch 7 - Trial and Friction

Snape retrieved the letters with caution, wondering why he'd not heard the owl come in. There were three, two addressed to Harry and one to him, which had been in a large generic envelope sent by Hermione. The one addressed to him looked suspiciously like a Hogwarts acceptance letter, and he cursed upon opening it.

"Must be too early yet, I've heard you far more creative than that." Harry noted, walking into the room and grabbing his own mail. They still had ten minutes before they needed to leave for work.

"Minerva would like to meet us for coffee somewhere." Snape's tone was clipped.

"Mmmh. She wants more than coffee, you mean."

Snape nodded and Harry dropped the last of his notepaper in his bag.

"I do believe she wants us back at Hogwarts."

Harry finished Hermione's note and stared at Snape, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Hermione wants to meet up for drinks too. Both at the same time could be amusing."

Snape slung his own bag over his shoulder and stepped out the door.

"You have a sick sense of humour, Potter."

Harry locked the door behind them and they stepped into the lift, nodding at the elderly lady who was already in there.

"What? Two stones, one bird."

Snape allowed a small smile to ghost his lips as the lady stared at them. "Indeed."

…

Tuesday proved to be just as dull as Monday. There was a large lab in the modern sciences building that had been afforded to the research group, and Snape had set up his own private study area against the back wall. The implements were strange and almost too sterile, but he'd arrived very early and managed to set up his calming draught well enough in stages so that it looked like a legitimate experiment. Harry had set up his own station with some sort of attempt at a potion; from Snape's quick glance he could see that it was supposed to be a confusion potion. Handy, he thought, with a smirk.

At ten to nine, the American researchers walked in, and Harry felt his ring grow warm.

**Just listen. No foolish heroics.**

_I am not foolish, you overgrown dun-_

"Mr. Krantz." Snape's features were schooled perfectly into the look of boredom that Harry was very accustomed to.

"Simon! And Henry. Good morning, what a lovely day today."

Harry stared at him as distant thunder could be heard rumbling outside the window.

"Good morning." Thinking it best to return to his notes, Harry did just that.

"Simon, I was wondering if I could peruse your findings regarding the advances in emotion manipulation you've been able to produce?"

Snape stopped working and leveled a glare at the man that would have sent a 7th year running. Harry bit back a laugh.

_You're supposed to be getting to know him._

**Hmph**.

"Perhaps not, Mr. Krantz. The drug I have been testing is very unstable as of yet, and I'm afraid my notes are rather jumbled. However, I would not be adverse to answering a few questions."

Krantz studied Snape for a moment, waiting to see if the wizard would give anything away in his facial expression. Harry wasn't sure what he was looking for, though it was a cold, calculating look, almost as if he were trying to figure out how best to extract information from Snape.

While the two held a conversation that resembled a chess match to Harry, the other occupants of the labs filtered in and out of the room. Harry studied them, watching their movements and wondering if he could sense any magic off any of them. Snape would probably be better at that.

One of the American researchers stood up across the room and mentioned a word that caught Harry's ear.

"Let's go check on the snakes. See if they've got the venom for us yet."

Harry sat up straight and collected his papers together, before slowly walking over.

"What kind of snake venom are you using?" Harry asked nonchalantly, trying to remember the name of the man talking.

"South African tree snakes. They call them something else though, I never remember the name." He was slightly embarrassed at this, but still gave Harry an honest smile.

"Boomslang." Harry returned the smile. He could categorize the properties of boomslang skin as a potion ingredient in his sleep.

"Right. That's the one. Want to come see them?" Alex Williams was the man's name, Harry finally saw it printed on the notebook he was carrying.

"Absolutely."

They stood and went towards the door, Harry pausing for a second at Snape's desk when a jar was thrust at him.

**If your dashing charms can earn you some skin.**

Harry nearly sputtered at the double entendre of that comment, recovering quickly at Krantz's patronizing smile.

"Don't worry, Mr. Prince. They've got the antidote there, and I'm sure Henry will be fine."

Snape turned to make eye contact with Krantz, giving him a look that Harry instantly recognized. It was a "How are you smart enough to breathe when you are too stupid to notice something so obvious" glare.

"I assure you, Henry knows what perils he'll face from me should he be foolish enough to be bitten by a snake."

It took Harry all of five minutes to return to the laboratory after leaving the snakes. He'd managed to convince one of the snakes to let him take the shed skin from the cage, earning him the respect and awe of the handlers. Harry thanked Snape mentally for the muffliato spell that let him speak to the snake unnoticed, and stalked quietly back into the workroom. Snape was sitting as his desk, scribbling formulae and recipes. He didn't move when Harry placed both the jar and a cold bottle of root beer on the desk.

_Got you some samples, the snake said I could come back if you need more._

**Thank you. Why the aggrieved face?**

_Bit of a headache. Must be the air in here._

Harry walked quietly to his own desk, sitting down roughly and pulling his bag open. Snape had not looked up from his table.

_Checked over the Prophet on the way, still no further articles about us. I'm worried._

Snape turned around and placed a small glass tumbler on Harry's desk, before grasping his hand.

**They can't find us. On the trial day there will be a scathing article, I'm sure.**

Harry took one look at the glass before downing it. The headache potion had a pleasant aftertaste, and he visibly relaxed.

Snape squeezed his hand once while he took the glass back, and offered a small flash of a smile, which Harry returned easily. Snape let go and went back to his notes, appearing in deep concentration.

Neither of them noticed Krantz in the corner watching them with intense curiosity. Not a word had been spoken aloud, but the man had been studying the body language. He had seen Simon Prince pull a small test tube from his pocket and pour the mixture into the glass, and then seen afterwards how Henry Prince had relaxed from his agitated state. Almost within seconds. The squeeze of the hand was a nice touch, and Krantz had no doubt that the couple was close, not after all he'd heard about them. Shy in public, it seemed, was the main descriptor. Reserved seemed more like it. However, he now had a pretty good idea exactly how successful Simon Prince was in creating a mind controlling drug, and what kind of motivation to provide in order to get the information to fix his own experiment. He glanced at the younger man again before returning to his own work. Small and scrawny, easy enough to pick off.

…

The pub was called The Sherlock Holmes, and Hermione had no doubt chosen it for the amusing name. Nonetheless, in the early afternoon the pub was littered with a pleasant after work crowd, and it was no trouble for Harry to find them a booth at the back. Minerva McGonagall joined them no less than five minutes later, and they ordered drinks while waiting for Snape. Harry knew that the man had merely stopped in a bookstore up the road, preferring to delay a bit so as not to appear to Minerva as if they were arriving together.

Small talk was made as they waited, talk directed away from the workings of the order. Minerva was quite curious as to how Harry had been filling his summer, and seemed to take a subtle interest on his plans for the starting fall. Harry danced delicately around the issue, not wishing to agree on anything concrete.

He really had no idea what to do in the fall, and it didn't particularly bother him anymore. He had his own place, and a list of his tasks to accomplish.

Snape finally walked in after twenty minutes, scowling and carrying a small wrapped package. He sat down in the booth beside Harry, wordlessly accepting the drink that had been ordered for him. It was a gesture not missed by Hermione.

"Minerva, Miss Granger." A nod was given to each, and then he turned to glare at Harry. "Potter."

"Thanks for keeping us waiting." Harry muttered. "It's not like I didn't deliver your invitation with plenty of warning."

"Gentlemen." Minerva ordered a refill on her drink and looked disapprovingly at them. "I understand that you avoid each other, but we'll make this meeting quick, for the sake of my own sanity and Miss Granger's here."

"Get to the point, Minerva." Snape leveled.

"Yes, well, it's nice to see you again too, Severus." Minerva snapped back.

_Be nice._

**Mind your own business.**

Hermione smiled at them and sipped her own drink. Snape idly wondered why she'd been brought along on this trip, and hoped to hell that she hadn't told Minerva that he was living with Potter.

"I'd like you to come back to Hogwarts to teach potions." Minerva swallowed and leveled her best teacher look at Snape.

The look bounced off him.

"No."

"Severus, we need you, you're the best potions master in England."

"No." Snape was starting at a spot just over the Headmistress' shoulder, an old habit that irritated her to no end.

_You want the job don't you? _Harry was smiling into his mug and winced at Snape's foot kicking his.

"You won't need to be head of Slytherin anymore." Minerva had moved her drink aside and pulled out a piece of parchment, with what Harry had guessed was her bargaining chips on it.

"No." Snape's expression remained unchanged.

"Fine, Severus. No head of house duties, only upper year potions students, and a raise."

"Throw in a gift certificate for Flourish and Blotts." Harry helpfully added, ignoring the glare he received.

"Potter, I should smother you in your sleep." The lack of conviction could almost be taken for affection, Hermione thought. She held her hand up and decided to change the subject slightly.

"So, if we get you a gift certificate for Quality Quidditch Supplies you'll come and teach Defense?"

Harry sputtered his drink and looked incredulously between McGonagall and Hermione.

**Oh, this is much funnier now.**

"Absolutely not. You're taking the piss out of me." Harry blurted, crossing his arms and looking eerily like Snape.

"Language, Mr. Potter. We need a trustworthy teacher and I am well aware of how you trained Dumbledore's Army in your fifth year." Minerva pulled out a folder with two contracts, which she handed out to both Snape and Harry. Neither took the papers, leaving them instead to sit on the table.

"I can't be a professor, I'm not qualified for that!" Harry stared at the offending parchment.

"Harry, you defeated Voldemort. I'd say you're qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." Hermione sounded exasperated.

"I haven't even graduated, Hermione, how can I teach? I don't want the Ministry to be making allowances for me."

"Not the Ministry, Harry! Hogwarts is like a entity of its own…"

Harry cut her off with a dark look.

"Hermione, I swear if you mention Hogwarts A History I will portkey you and your hair to a very humid place."

Hermione looked affronted and turned to Snape with an annoyed look.

"I use unforgivables," shrugged Snape, looking around for the waiter and not fully paying attention to the conversation. He finally waved the man's attention, and turned to look back at the two women.

"We shall read over your silly contracts and contact you by the end of the summer with the decision. It will take me that long to explain the multi-syllabic words to Potter, with the little amount of time I want to spend in his presence." Snape commented, picking up his bundle of papers.

"And I shall ensure to teach Snape some manners so your reply is sent back politely." Harry stood and collected his bag, nodding to both across the table with a sickly sweet smile.

"Professor, Hermione. I'll owl you later." He walked out, holding the door open for Snape and giving him an impatient look. Snape walked through, and Harry put his hand on the back of Snape's shoulders, shoving him through.

"I thought you said they had reconciled over the past year. They still hate each other." McGonagall pursed her lips and finished her own tea.

"Well, I think they've moved past hate." Hermione grinned. "It's more like "if you got transfigured into a bug, I wouldn't step on you right away" thing."

"That," Minerva paused, a small smile on her face at the mental image, "is not much more reassuring, Miss Granger."

"I think it's the best to ask for at the moment, Professor." Hermione gathered her things and left some Muggle money for the bill.

"What I don't understand is why Mr. Potter agreed to be Severus' secret keeper. Surely he knew he'd be required to visit once in a while."

Hermione grinned inwardly to herself, remembering the weekend barbeque at Cairn Hollow they'd had a week ago.

"Oh, I think he knew."

"They'll come back, won't they?" Minerva sounded worried as she left with the young witch.

"Oh yes, Professor. I'm quite sure they will say yes." Hermione's voice rocked with confidence, and instead of finding it suspicious, Minerva let it go.

…..

Thursday night brought a level of boredom to the flat. The days had been busy, after Snape had finally gotten hold of one of Krantz's mixtures; they'd examined the brew to find that it had indeed been a potion made by a wizard. Krantz was not one, however, and so the hunt had begun to see who was supplying him with the mixture, which was a mild calming draught. Snape had found in Krantz's notes that the man intended to add a form of imperius to the draught, but had thus far been spectacularly unsuccessful.

That was reassuring to Harry, though the next question had him worried significantly more so than Snape. What if Krantz didn't know that the supplier of his compound was a wizard?

In addition to the lab discoveries, Harry had been having fun teasing Snape in their roles, giving him light kisses in the morning going to work, and flirting shamelessly with him while at the labs. Snape, though slightly taken aback, had decided to return the game and given Harry a run for his money with the soft touches, steady gazes, and completely inappropriate commentary through their ring communication. All in all, it lead to a very frustrated Harry Potter by the end of the day, which he had to admit, was completely his own doing. Sleeping in the man's bed at night, albeit only to ward off the nightmares, certainly did nothing to still his imagination and hormones.

Snape slammed the balcony door open and startled Harry out of his thoughts.

"I am beginning to wish I was back at your decrepit little cottage."

Harry sat back on the couch and flipped off the TV. "You enjoy my company that much? I'm touched."

"My personal effects are there. Don't flatter yourself." Snape crossed his arms and stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

"Flatter? You did that enough today, Professor. You almost hexed Krantz for flirting with me." Harry stood and went to the balcony wall, opening the door again to let in a breeze.

"You're supposedly married, Potter, what else was I to do?" Snape asked, icily. "As for flattery, I do believe you were checking me out earlier with that impromptu shoulder rub."

Harry's face coloured a little, but he held his ground. "Mmmh. And you paying for my lunch, how chivalrous."

"You're scrawny and boney in all the wrong places. Someone has to feed you." Snape uncrossed his arms and stalked towards Harry. "Close the damn door, it's drafty."

"Right and you're Mr. Universe himself." Harry scoffed. He stuck his foot in the doorway to prevent Snape from closing it. "Open. I'm hot."

Harry was suddenly pinned back against the window frame by Snape, who had his forearms flexed and hands at the sides of Harry's head, until he slowly leaned himself in to within inches of Harry's face. The arm muscles twitched, and he saw Harry swallow hesitantly.

"I've got the muscle where it counts, Potter. As you should know, seeing how you manage to molest me in your sleep."

A flash memory of spooning Snape that morning lit up in Harry's mind as he pushed himself off the wall. He bumped against Snape's chest, keeping himself there but leaving his arms and hands by his side.

"Says the one who invited me to share his bed."

"To stop your irksome yelling from those incessant nightmares." Snape moved one foot to stand between Harry's feet, brushing his thigh against one of Harry's. He waited all of five seconds before leaning in and capturing Harry's mouth in a demanding kiss, similar to the one they'd shared at Cairn Hollow.

"I'm sure that's the only reason." Harry managed to say, bringing his arms up to pull Snape's shoulders closer and kiss again. They twisted just the right way to avoid noses and clashing teeth, instead finding soft lips and probing tongues.

"You're hot." Snape breathed out, kissing Harry with an upward motion and driving his body against the younger man's. His erection was straining against his trousers, but the friction felt liberating after all those years.

Harry tugged Snape away from the balcony door and pulled them into the bedroom, continuing to pepper Snape with savage kisses along the way. Both shirts were roughly pulled off, and Harry pushed Snape down onto the bed, his mouth following quickly after and latching onto the man's neck.

Harry was very inexperienced and Snape found that the uncoordinated kissing and sucking along his neck and collarbones sent fire along the nerves of his traitorous body. He inwardly grimaced at the wholly unbecoming noises being uttered from his lips.

Harry's hand then slid under his pants, eliciting a guttural needy moan and the mental justification of using obliviate after this little tryst. There was absolutely no way Snape would let someone else remember causing him to make that noise.

His hands roamed frantically around Harry's chest and back as that insolent mouth nearly caused him to come while still half clothed. Snape growled, half in embarrassment, before strongly grasping Harry's arms and shoving him sideways towards the bed. Snape quickly crawled on top of the man causing Harry to groan as their erections rubbed against the tight fabric of their trousers.

The roughness that overtook them was unsurprising to either, and Harry found himself panting and squirming under the oral attack of Severus Snape. He was certain the man had even bit him at one point, though indignation was far from his mind. The only things that mattered currently were Snape's hands, Snape's lips, Snape's cock, and the desperate ache in his own groin.

Snape, who seemed to share the same mindset, suddenly stopped flicking his tongue into Harry's navel. He looked up and made eye contact with the glazed over green eyes and then gave a wicked smirk.

Harry felt he should have been afraid of that look.

In a quick and fluid movement, Snape had flipped Harry over, pulling him up to his knees and raking his nails down Harry's back. He arched into the touch, knowing that the marks would be there three days later.

Snape roughly grabbed Harry's hips, slamming himself flush to Harry, writhing and rubbing against him as their trousers restricted them, causing desperate sounds to escape both of their mouths. Snape leant down over Harry, kissing the middle of his back and sucking hard, as one had moved around to pop the button open on his jeans. Harry's last coherent thought was of a warm hand that had been thrust down his pants, a strong hold, and a persistent hard grind against his clothed arse.

In minutes both were gasping for breath and seeing stars.

"It's too early to go to bed." Harry mumbled, stifling a yawn. He'd just brushed his teeth and had wandered back to bed, wearing only his pyjama pants.

Snape was already lying on his side, a cover tossed haphazardly over himself and his eyes shut. He looked thoroughly ravished.

"Spare me the theatrics, Potter, and just go to sleep."

Harry flopped onto the bed, pulling the covers over himself and throwing an arm over Snape.

"This doesn't mean I like you." Harry retorted, pulling himself closer and holding his wand up to close the forgotten balcony door.

"Leave it open. It's hot." Snape muttered, nodding in agreement to Harry's statement.

Ten minutes passed, and Harry was almost completely asleep before he heard an uncertain whisper in the room.

"You…were not reminded of that dream?"

Warm breath passed through Snape's hair, tickling the back of his neck.

"No. Only good feelings."

Before breakfast the next day, both men rather sheepishly crossed an item off their lists, pointedly refusing to speak about what they had done.

…..

Snape stood in the lab, working on his healing potion that he'd created to get rid of the dark mark. Harry was standing behind him, leaning against his own worktable and reading the Prophet. Snape had handed it over wordlessly earlier, too incensed to make any comments.

The article, written again by Fenton Greeley, bluntly pointed out that neither Snape nor Harry were going out in the Wizarding world, both had been marked by Voldemort, and both were extremely powerful wizards. It accused them of starting up another dark army, and under a battle weary picture of both of them there was a long and bolded list of all the crimes they'd committed, plus a few they hadn't.

Snape shook his head towards Harry, and sent a message through the rings.

**This does not bode well, after three weeks of nothing.**

_You think something will happen?_

**Perhaps. And I do think the ex-minister may have something to do with it.**

The silence that morning in the laboratory was broken by an assistant to the Prime Minister, who walked hesitantly over to Harry.

"Mr. Prince, this came for you. Urgent." She handed over the sealed envelope and took a quick exit, apparently uncomfortable with the lab. Upon opening the small note, Harry found that it was from Kingsley, detailing an emergency hearing in front of the Wizengamot in thirty minutes. Krantz was watching him with curiosity as he shoved the note in his pocket and forced a smile towards Snape.

**What's wrong?**

"Need to go. They changed my appointment time again. I'll be back around noon, Simon." He stood up, collecting his small bag and squeezing Snape's shoulder as he passed.

_Hearing at the Ministry in 30, about Dumbledore._

He only got a disinterested look from Snape and then small wave.

"Take care, Henry."

**What the hell do they want now?**

_I only wish I knew._

…_._

Fudge, in his funny little green suit, garish cream and orange coloured tie, and knobby walking cane, sat pompously in the prosecutor's chair. Harry was sat off to the side of the room at the moment, just behind the defense's table. He had kept his muggle clothing on, altering the colour, but had dropped his glamour. There were three reporters sitting in the back of the room, and Harry steadfastly refused to look at them. It had only taken him five minutes to work out why the hearing had been called, and figured it was most beneficial to keep his mouth shut and observe.

_Are you there?_

Silence followed, and Harry swiped his thumb across the ring absentmindedly. He watched with a cold feeling in his stomach as Fudge stepped to the front of the room, starting his speech.

**I do believe by the end of this week I will have killed this man.**

_Who, Fudge? You'll have to join the line._

**Fudge? No, Krantz. The bane of my existence.**

_I thought I was your bane of existence._

**Second place now, you've lost your touch.**

_Easily remedied._

**Try something and I will poison you. Why is Fudge there?**

_He's a lawyer now. Currently trying to convince us that Dumbledore was off his rocker._

**Albus **_**was**_** off his rocker.**

_Well yes. But, oh, no._

Harry stared at Fudge's grinning face. A very large pensieve was being dragged to the center of the room, and Harry saw that it had some sort of projector affixed to it.

"Albus Dumbledore was one of the greatest wizards that our century has seen." Fudge's voice had a sickly sweet tone to it. "However, in light of recent events, we have started to study the memories given in testament to some rather unsavoury characters, and found that Professor Dumbledore may not have been fully in his right capacity to make certain decisions, especially vitally important ones."

**POTTER! What is happening?**

Fudge loaded a memory into the pensieve, and Harry watched with horror as it started. The memory was one of Snape's of the very night Dumbledore asked him to kill him.

_I need to concentrate. I can't talk now, I'll tell you later._

Harry slipped the ring off his finger and quietly put it in his pocket. He focused on the memory being played in front of him, wincing at how jovial Dumbledore had sounded when he asked Snape to perform the duty.

When the memory finished playing out, Fudge took to the front of the room again, his face in a malicious grin.

"I know we have all seen that memory before, and that it was used earlier in the summer to exonerate Severus Snape." He spat the name with venom. "However, what if we really look into the memory, and the man himself? A man who was foolish enough to put a cursed object on himself, and then smile as he asked a supposed old friend to kill him. Now I must wonder, what exactly happened with that curse to Dumbledore's hand?" All the attention in the room was raptly on Fudge, and Harry felt himself scrambling three steps ahead. This was not a trial about Dumbledore at all. This was retribution against Snape. He hastily fished in his pocket for the ring, jamming it back on his finger and rubbing the snake on it vigorously.

**I swear to Merlin boy if you do…**

_SHUT UP and listen! Can you hear what's being said around me?_

Harry waited for thirty seconds while Fudge again brought up the image of the blackened hand, and then Snape stopping the curse.

**No, I cannot.**

_Dumbledore's not on trial. You are. The 15th of August trial was a ruse._

"In these memories we see that Severus Snape has attempted to stop the curse from killing Albus Dumbledore. But what if he had another motive? What if Severus Snape, under the pretense of curing the curse, made Dumbledore agree to his own death?"

Fudge delivered the last line dramatically, and had Harry not known him since he was twelve, he would not have remembered how half-witted the man was. There were a few gasps in the crowd, and one or two nods. That was all Fudge needed.

"We have persecuted almost all of the remaining Death Eaters since the fall of You-know-who, except this one. He has been hidden away by the silly vigilante group of Dumbledore, excused by a memory and the tale of being a double agent. By his own admission, the man is a master Occlumens, so why are we in the Wizarding world so eager to accept his lies? We have the proof in his own memory. Severus Snape confounded Dumbledore by taking advantage of a curse, and when it suited him, he murdered Dumbledore. " There were a few scoffs from the room. "As to Dumbledore ordering him to perform the killing curse, there's only Snape's word to go on."

It was meant to be threatening, to be leveling, to put the thought of doubt in their minds. And it would have, had Harry not chosen to stand up at that precise moment.

"You have my word, too."

It had taken ten minutes for the judge to stem the chatter in the room, threaten the reporters, and calm Fudge down. Harry stood calmly at his chair, watching the fray.

_I'm about to take the stand._

**Of course you are. The embodiment of Gryffindor.**

"Mr. Potter," Fudge spoke angrily, "as you have refused to talk to the press or give a statement, we do not have your word, as you so eloquently put it."

"I thought it would be obvious that I am offering to testify now." Harry's glare did not waver.

_Anything you don't want mentioned?_

"Take the seat!" Fudge barked, waving his hand at the chair and forgetting that the judge was actually in charge.

**I guard my privacy tightly Potter, even you should know that by now.**

"Any objections to veritaserum?"

_Privacy's what I'm hoping for._

"No." Came Harry's only reply, as he sat in the chair with a strong posture.

"State your name for the record." Harry barely avoided rolling his eyes.

"Harry James Potter."

"Do you go by any other names?" He fought the urge to reply with Henry Prince.

"The boy who lived, the golden boy, Potter, Harry Bloody Potter." A snicker from the audience at the last one, and Harry relaxed a tiny bit. Fudge did not find it amusing.

"Where have you been living since the battle?"

"At home." Harry replied, as nonchalant as he could manage.

"Why Mr. Potter, lying in front of the Wizengamot?" Fudge had a nasty sneer on his face, and Harry noticed two of the reporters writing madly, while the third gave him a scrutinizing look.

"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Fudge." Harry kept his words carefully controlled.

"You did not return to your Aunt and Uncle's." Fudge said, pointedly.

"Of course not. I have my own home, Fudge. I am, after all, an adult now."

Fudge looked uncomfortable as he digested this, and then changed the subject.

"How long did you attend Hogwarts?"

"Six years." Harry looked bored.

"Where were you in your last year, if not at school?"

"I went camping. It was nice seeing a bit of England." Fudge's face went red and Harry inwardly grinned. Sarcasm definitely rattled the larger man.

"Why are you defending Severus Snape?" Fudge was getting annoyed, and Harry focused all his attention. He needed to be careful.

"Because it is unfair that after all his service, he is branded and persecuted for something Dumbledore ordered."

"Did Severus Snape kill Albus Dumbledore?" Fudge had a smile on his face, daring Harry to answer no.

"He did. I was there."

A murmur fell over the room, and Fudge's eyes crossed briefly. That was not public knowledge.

"You … were there. You saw him kill Dumbledore?"

"Yes. Right after Dumbledore asked him again to do it." The truth serum made Harry nervous, but not as much as Fudge.

"Yes, well, the capacity of Dumbledore at the time will have to be examined." Fudge was backpedaling, and it was not a good look on him. Harry did not respond, but continued to stare at Fudge in what he hoped was an unnerving manner.

"Do you not hate Snape?"

Harry smiled at the abrupt change of questioning.

"Not anymore."

"I don't believe that. All accounts of your schooling and past have shown nothing but animosity between you."

"We have come to an understanding. After I saw his memories, I realized that he had been used too." Fudge changed his focus again, trying to draw attention away from the fact that Harry had grown up and been used by him only as a symbol.

"An understanding, of course. As I read in the paper this morning it seems like an understanding between the two of you is rather detrimental to the Wizarding world." Fudge's voice had a malicious tone too it, and Harry could see worried glances in the jury seats.

Something clicked in his mind. Fudge had arranged for the articles, as a form of misguided revenge. Perhaps for the spectacular mess he'd made of Voldemort's return in Harry's fifth year, or for the fame that Harry and Snape had received for being such decorated war heroes. Whatever the reason, Fudge needed to be watched.

"Forgive me if I seem to have a hard time believing a word that the Prophet prints." Harry replied, evenly. "It has not been forgotten how much the Prophet tried to disparage me when Voldemort first returned."

There was a gasp in the room at the name, which Harry ignored after years of practice.

"Where is Severus Snape right now?" Fudge had hoped to catch Harry off guard, but was annoyed by the small quirk of the younger man's lips.

"I assume he's slaving away over a potion." A few laughs were heard from the gallery.

"Let me try again. Where is Severus Snape living now?"

"A safe place." Harry answered, taking a drink of water. Fudge was annoyed, as veritaserum didn't usually produce such vague answers.

"What is the name of that place?"

"Can't say." Potter's smile was irritating.

"It's under the fidelius charm?" Fudge ground out, cursing paranoid ex-spies in general.

"Yes indeed. Rather smart, don't you think? That way no one could be forced to give up the location."

"Except the secret keeper." Fudge continued, his voice sweet again. "Tell me Harry, are you the secret keeper?"

"No. I am not."

Fudge didn't look surprised. He had suddenly hit upon another idea.

"Are you romantically involved with Professor Snape?" Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"No."

Fudge looked slightly disappointed.

"No? Did you not save his life during the battle? Are you not spending time with him?"

"I am, yes. He is very quiet company." Harry's eyes were narrowed but widened for a second at a single thought. _He'd better not ask if I'm sleeping with him._

**What?**

"Are you having sex with Snape?"

Harry stared down Fudge in his best imitation of Snape's death eater glare, pushing the limits of the veritaserum.

"No, I am not." he growled, "And if you are quite done with this little witch hunt into my private life, I have some memories of my own to show the Wizengamot."

Harry raised his wand and removed six years worth of memories, filling the room via the pensieve with Dumbledore's voice, and then with certain order members as well.

"I trust Severus Snape." "I trust him." "I trust Severus Snape completely." "I trust Dumbledore, therefore I trust Snape."

They echoed around the room, repeating themselves. It was only three minutes, but it felt like much longer. Harry finished with one last memory, one of Snape's he'd never shared before. It was from his sixth year, final year at Hogwarts, and it had taken place one cold fall night close to Christmas.

_Dumbledore glanced around to make sure that they were alone. They were close by the Forbidden Forest now, but there was no sign of anyone near them. _

"_After you have killed me, Severus — " _

"_You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me!" snarled Snape, and real anger ﬂared in the thin face now. "You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!" _

"_You gave me your word, Severus."_

The room was deathly quiet and Harry stood up to leave. He didn't care anymore about the proceedings. He turned to the judge, clearing his throat.

"He's innocent. I want a full pardon for him, and this pointless persecution to stop. Someone who has sacrificed twenty years of their life to defeat Voldemort deserves his peace."

The judge merely nodded, before asking for a vote. Not a single person on the panel voted to convict, and Fudge looked furious. He'd had dreams of making the headlines, convicting the thorn in his side for so many years with the murder of Dumbledore, another pain. Once again, the Boy Who Lived had disrupted everything. As the verdict was claimed however, Fudge watched Potter leave, noting that the man seemed to be more shrouded than the boy had ever been. Whatever Harry Potter was now, it was being deeply guarded.

….

Harry cooked that night, barricading himself in the kitchen and taking his anger out on the dinner ingredients. The Evening Prophet would arrive soon, and he was very hesitant to see the headlines. Snape, for his part, sat in the living room with his potions journal, seemingly pondering over the day's events. Harry called him for dinner a few minutes later, and a light chicken salad with wine was presented. They had barely started eating, in perfect silence, when a grey owl appeared at the window carrying a large bundle of newspaper. Harry gulped his wine while Snape paid the bird and unrolled the paper.

CANNONS WIN THREE GAMES IN A ROW.

After skimming the paper quickly, he handed it to Harry. There was a small article on the second page regarding a small court hearing to "document" the memories regarding Severus Snape, for the public record of his acquittal.

"You're free." Harry smiled, putting the paper down.

"I imagine not. Not for a while yet." Snape took a sip of his wine and held his neutral tone.

Harry knew he was right, but this was a large step at least.

"Let's do something on your list to celebrate."

Snape thought for a minute, before summoning his parchment. "Tomorrow is Saturday. We could go to the theatre."

Harry thought for a moment before standing up to bring dessert to the table, he leaned in to kiss Snape lightly on the cheek as he passed by, stopping suddenly just after he'd done it. They both stared at each other, and Harry's face was slightly red.

"I'm..I'm sorry. I think it was just habit from acting."

Snape was still contemplating the gesture, feeling inexplicably warm at the simple and comforting action.

"We have done more." He finally said, thinking of their animalistic urges the night before.

"True." Harry laughed, cutting up the sponge cake he'd made.

Snape watched him work, his attention stuck on the nimble fingers that were holding the knife strongly.

"I shall endeavor not to be insulted if you do it again."

Harry looked up and passed him a plate of cake. "I liked it too." He murmured.


	8. Ch 8 No Day But Three From Now

AN: In which Snape does something stupid to calm his insecurities. I'm trying not to make this story too out of character, and I'm writing this chapter because I don't believe that everything is rosy and grey for the two all the time. They're both a little too screwed up for that and life isn't perfect in general anyway. Hopefully this comes off well, and doesn't seem "tossed together," because it's not meant to be. Oh, and this is the bucket I refer to near the end of the chapter.: .com/static/attachments/20705_

Thank you for the reviews as well. They make me smile. :) And also, cheers for the compliments on trying to keep the story realistic to the time. It's a bit of a challenge to go back and see what I goofed up on. In this chapter, the musical RENT is indeed playing at that theatre in July of 1998. To those whom haven't seen RENT, sorry for the slight spoiler.

Ch 8 – No Day but Three From Now

Snape would rather be sitting in the back garden of Cairn Hollow, a book in his hand and silence around on this Saturday morning, but they had a job to complete and he was no stranger to giving reports.

The Prime Minister was patient as he was given all the findings of their week, and appeared only slightly disturbed by the properties of the compound Krantz was attempting to make.

"He wasn't successful, correct?"

Snape put his type written findings down on the desk.

"No."

"Is he a wizard?" The Prime Minister looked thoughtful, staring at the two men to see if there was some sort of difference that one could pick out wizards and witches with.

"Usually you can tell by the clothing." Harry laughed, earning him a snort from Snape. "But no, he's not a wizard. He's a Muggle, we're just not sure if the person giving him these compounds and formulae is a wizard or not."

"However, you will want to keep a close eye on him. The compounds he's playing with are rather complicated and brewed using old world ingredients, which leans me to conclude that he is working with a wizard. Or witch." Snape continued.

"But, that could be anyone." The Prime Minister looked concerned and fidgeted with his tie.

"Hardly." Snape scoffed. "It would require someone with a very intimate knowledge of potions and their creation. A potions master."

"Or Hermione." Harry said softly with a smile threatening his lips, as he stared out the window and refused to make eye contact with Snape.

"I beg your pardon?" Snape's voice was low and dangerous.

Harry had the grace to look sheepish. "Merely stating that she could brew complicated potions long before they were required by class."

The Prime Minister watched the interplay between the two with slight amusement. The younger one was certainly cheeky, but the older seemed to know how to provoke right back.

"I am well aware, Mr. Potter, of your little experiment with Polyjuice in your second year." Snape looked triumphant at Harry's guilty look. "I have yet to determine how you obtained some of the ingredients, but do rest assured that I took many extra points from Gryffindor that winter."

"You couldn't figure it out?" Harry smirked. He turned back to the Prime Minister with a full smile. "Will you be needing us to help with Krantz again?"

"I may." The Prime Minister gathered the papers and locked them away in a hidden drawer behind the desk. "Krantz seemed quite eager to follow up on your studies in the future, and I believe he may come back to England in August. We will, of course, have a special team tracking his movements back in the USA, and I will ask Mr. Shacklebolt to contact the Ministry of Magic in America about your findings."

Harry nodded, and Snape still looked like he was calculating something difficult in his head.

"There is, a Ministry of Magic in the USA, right?" The Prime Minister looked momentarily doubtful but Harry smiled and confirmed.

"Good. Thank you then, gentlemen, for your time and excellent work." They all stood to shake hands, and then turned toward the door.

"Not a problem. Let us know about later this summer." Harry replied, glad that they would be going back to Cairn Hollow. As he reached the door, he turned to his silent partner, who still appeared to be brooding.

"Want a hint, Snape?" Harry's voice was playful, and he figured if the Prime Minister was there the body damage wouldn't be too great. He got a scowl in return.

Harry made hand motions as if he were lighting a firecracker, and then rocked up onto the toes of his feet as if he was shooting a basketball. He made a low whistling noise, before staring straight into Snape's eyes and quietly saying "Boom."

"Oh Potter." Snape replied after a moment, his eyes glinting with something Harry was afraid to categorize. A slender but strong hand was placed around the back of his neck, and he was pulled roughly to Snape's side. "You do have a death wish."

…..

London was bustling that evening, and the West End seemed filled with young couples and night goers looking to enjoy their weekend. Snape walked Harry, his arm hooked close by the younger man, towards the Shaftesbury Theatre and noted how noisy and alive the town felt. They had had a minor argument earlier regarding their dress for the evening, and eventually Snape had convinced Harry to go in his polyjuiced disguise. His excuse was that there were still people most happy to do him harm, though Snape was aware that he'd wanted the disguises most for the simple reason that in them, he was able to enjoy more natural contact with Harry.

Such as walking arm in arm down Shaftesbury Avenue, dressed in smart, but casual clothing, and looking to the rest of the town as if they were out on a date. His parchment list did say date on it, but as he would never show Harry his list, not even on his deathbed, Snape figured he was safe to enjoy the evening with very little questions.

They walked up to the queue at the ticket window, and Harry winced as he stretched his shoulder a little. He'd spent two hours that afternoon scrubbing every cauldron, pot and pan in Cairn Hollow, punishment that Snape insisted with a silky voice had been a long time coming. Harry knew he deserved it, but it would make the show a bit uncomfortable to watch.

Snape had noticed the stiffness in Harry's shoulders, and as they inched their way closer to the booth, he removed his arm from Harry's grasp, draping it instead over the man's shoulders. He started slowly rubbing the base of Harry's neck, not turning to look at him, but smiling when he felt Harry melt slightly beside him.

"Your fidgeting would have ruined my enjoyment of the musical." Snape offered as justification.

"I would have blamed you anyway." Harry murmured, closing his eyes and leaning his head to rest against Snape.

They finally reached the booth and Harry felt more relaxed than he had been in a week.

"Two, under the name Prince." Snape gruffed out, appalled by the wild make up and flashy cheap jewelry adorned on the attendant. Harry had to admit she looked like a bit of a streetwalker.

They gathered their tickets and walked towards the seats, taking the playbills that were offered and staring at the Muggles surrounding them. Harry supposed he should feel over dressed, in his fitted wizard trousers, dress shirt, and jacket, but instead he just felt old fashioned. Snape, whom had chosen to wear a similar outfit, seemed to share his disdain at all the denim surrounding them.

"I thought you were supposed to dress up for the show." Harry observed, as they found their seats at the front of the balcony.

"I had been raised that way as well." Snape confirmed, settling into the seat.

"Perhaps we're just from the wrong century." Harry joked, thinking about their usage of cauldrons, candelabras, quills, and parchment.

"Perhaps." Snape offered upturned lips in a half smile.

"At least I'm here with a well dressed gentleman." Harry commented, leaning over the balcony to observe the other patrons.

Snape felt he should have been uncomfortable at that compliment.

"What's this play about, anyway?" Harry asked, pulling out the playbill to flip through it.

"It's a musical." Snape explained, rolling his eyes. "Based off of Puccini's _La Bohème, _but with a much more modern subject, and modern music."

"Sounds good." Harry smiled. The lights dimmed, and Snape felt Harry's arm brush against his on the armrest. Up on stage, a solitary character stood in the spotlight, and the sounds of an old wind camera echoed through the room, accompanying the actor's voice.

"_December 24th, 1989, 9 PM, Eastern Standard Time. From here on in, I shoot without a script. See if anything comes of it, instead of my old shit."_

…

They arrived back rather late at Cairn Hollow, Snape softly humming a tune from the musical while he put the kettle on, and Harry sitting pensively at the kitchen table. He had absolutely loved the musical, been caught up in the music and found himself smiling throughout, and even tears had come to his eyes at one point. Though Harry would never admit that to anyone. However happy the musical had made him, however, some parts gave him trouble.

"Knut for your thoughts, Potter."

Harry looked up to see Snape watching him with curiosity.

"It's stupid." Harry shrugged.

"I assumed so, after years of experience."

"That does not gain my confidence." Harry crossed his arms, looking annoyed. Snape just went to work making the tea.

"It's about Angel. How could he do that to Collins?"

"Love him?" Snape asked, pouring milk into Harry's mug and passing it over.

"No, leave him." Harry took a sip, wincing at the burning sensation on his lips.

"It's hot." Snape rolled his eyes. "And one does not get to choose when they die, for the most part."

Harry went to open his mouth, but Snape waved him off. "You don't count. You've never followed the rules."

Harry summoned some biscuits from the cupboard and offered them to Snape.

"Even so. How could he get into a relationship with Collins, knowing he was going to die? It just seems so…selfish."

Harry cupped his hands around the mug, letting the heat of the tea seep into his fingers and palms. During the play he'd wanted what Angel and Collins had had, felt jealousy for the carefree devotion the characters had shown. It had, however, been only a musical, so perhaps it didn't exist in reality. Harry had certainly never seen his aunt and uncle look at each other like they were the secret to life.

"Collins was sick too." Snape replied softly, watching the emotions flit across Harry's face. He understood what Harry was saying, and didn't need to draw it out. Snape had often wondered himself how people could openly and willingly throw everything away for another person. Snape couldn't understand why, or how, one could completely open up their heart, when they knew for certain, especially in this case, that it would only end in hurt.

Harry nodded, taking another drink of tea. "Maybe that's why he let Angel love him. He wanted to feel it, before he died too."

"Is that why you turned away Miss Weasley? You didn't love her?"

Harry looked away, but Snape saw disappointment in his face. "I couldn't do that to her. It doesn't matter now anyway." He stood, putting his cup in the sink, and went upstairs to take a bath.

Snape followed ten minutes later, having taken care of his own duties downstairs. He folded his clothes carefully, placing them on the chair and then climbing into bed. He noted that he automatically kept to the right hand side, habit already formed after a week of sleeping beside Potter. Not that it mattered now, Snape thought with a sigh, pulling the blankets up over his bare chest.

He was pleasantly surprised a few minutes later when Harry slipped into the bed beside him, mumbling about getting a good night's rest. Snape was facing the wall, and allowed a small smile to play on his lips for a few seconds, until a cold chill shot up his legs to his spine.

"Sweet mother of Merlin, Potter. Put some damn socks on."

…..

Near the end of July, a full month after seeing the show, Snape finally promised to teach Harry how to fly if he'd stop singing the RENT soundtrack every day. They had co-existed rather peacefully in the house, Harry spending the majority of his time reading or poking around in the garden, as Snape brewed or read his own journals. It was quiet, and Snape was uncomfortable with the thoughts that came to him in the silence.

They still slept in the same bed, and thankfully neither had had recurring nightmares, but the soft touches and kisses had continued long after they'd left the personas of Simon and Henry. Snape could not bring himself to hate the contact, as Harry had never once made him feel like it was an obligation or duty to be touched. Snape wasn't sure if that threw him off more. Potter liked leaning against him on the couch while they watched movies, and he liked when Snape remembered how he took his tea or preferred tastes in dinner. He enjoyed spooning Snape, liked when the older man rubbed his shoulders after a long day out in public, and Snape recalled with a grin, he certainly enjoyed when Snape took him roughly against the wall for a breathtaking kiss.

But Potter never went further than that. He certainly never spoke about their actions, and he was careful not to go any further with Snape.

Snape pulled a root beer out of the fridge and stared at the door when it closed. The birthday invitation that had been sent for Harry was stuck to the fridge with a magnet. He read the invitation over and made up his mind. He was thirty-eight, survived a war, two dictators, and a plethora of physical curses. He would not be used or played by an unsure eighteen year old.

Snape felt true guilt, a feeling he hadn't been accustomed to in a while, when he thought about leaving the house. It would most likely crush Harry, but it was best to do it early, before they got too wrapped up in the comfort and solitude of the cottage. Snape looked around the living room, not failing to notice how his possessions looked like they belonged on the book shelves and telly stand, intermixed with Harry's. He didn't want to leave, Snape told himself. He just didn't want Harry to have him there as only a place to go after the war.

…..

On the thirtieth, Harry took his time packing a bag for the party. Ron and Hermione had invited him over for three days, to check out the newly renovated Grimmauld Place, and also to celebrate his turning 18. Harry had been trying to convince Snape to join him for the past week, but hadn't had any luck as of yet.

"Snape!" Harry yelled, staring at one black sock that had no match. "I've got a sock of yours! Or you've one of mine." Harry finished, staring at the sock. Maybe it was his.

Snape appeared in the doorway, looking troubled at something.

"Would it harm you to call me by my title?"

"I dunno." Harry shrugged, missing the conflicted look on Snape's face. "Best not risk it."

Harry threw the sock towards his hamper, missing, and then shoved the suitcase closed. He turned to look at Snape with a smile, which promptly fell.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I…" Snape had never been a stutterer, and he was embarrassed to have become one at this moment. "I'm going back to Spinner's End."

"You're what?" Harry managed to whisper out before he sat on the bed, looking for the entire world like Snape had slapped him.

"For a few days." Snape assured, fighting the urge to give the man a hug. It would not help. "I think we need time to consider the situation we're in."

Harry pulled his knees up to his chest, staring at the floor. "What situation?"

"Potter." Snape managed to say it without malice. "You're sleeping with me. We're … becoming intimate. We've been living together for two months now, without a dire threat forcing us to."

Harry looked up and Snape's stomach clenched at the moisture in his eyes.

"We're sleeping _together_. And I don't understand what's wrong."

Snape went to put his hand on Harry's shoulder, but drew back at the last moment. "I…am not a man who will go into a relationship lightly. That is what this is turning into, and I will eventually want the real thing."

Harry stared at him and Snape wished he could look away.

"You're eighteen tomorrow. I will not tie you to myself the rest of your life. But if you do want me here, and you do want more of...what we have, it needs to be something we both choose."

"You leaving, is that what you choose?" Harry was blinking to fight off tears. He didn't understand why the world suddenly felt like it had been ripped from him. Why did it matter so much that Snape was going his house?

"What I choose doesn't matter." Snape managed to say, though Harry could hear the strain in his voice.

"That's bullshit." Harry growled, calling him on his bluff. "Don't you want to live here with me?"

"Potter." Snape's voice sounded strained. "I am very comfortable here."

Harry knew that was Snape's way of saying yes.

"You don't think I'm good enough for you, do you?" Harry asked.

"You couldn't be more wrong." Snape barked out, his tone harsher than he wanted it to be. "Just, take three days, Potter. I refuse to participate in something that you don't know if you want."

"Angel." Harry said, barely loud enough for Snape to hear him, and wince. There was a thick silence in the room that lasted for sixty seconds of forever.

"Happy birthday, Harry." Snape finally said, pulling a small package out of his pocket and placing it on the bed. "I will speak to you on Saturday, when you get back from Grimmauld Place."

Harry didn't acknowledge the gift or the words. He just turned and slipped down against the bed, keeping his face blank.

"Stay here. I'll be gone anyway, and it's safer here than Spinner's End." He mumbled it into the pillow as Snape stood straighter.

"You're not worried I'll destroy the place?" Snape tried to keep the conversation light. He promised himself that if Harry wanted him, he'd be back.

"It's not the physical damage you'll do I'm worried about." Harry closed his eyes, refusing to say more.

Snape turned and walked towards the door, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. "Have a good time. You won't be alone there."

Harry heard the floor at the top of the stairs creak, and then the soft pop of apparition.

…..

Harry stumbled into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place three hours later, his eyes red and hair wet from the thirty-minute shower he'd tried to drown himself with.

He was caught by Ron, and started cursing himself when he saw Ron's concerned face.

"It's nothing, mate." Harry reassured, plastering a fake smile on his face. He nodded to Hermione, and Ron suddenly understood.

They enjoyed a quiet dinner that Harry lied his way through, and finally Ron convinced Hermione that the men were going to spend the night having manly conversations with drinks to celebrate Harry's coming of age in the Muggle world. Hermione had rolled her eyes and retired to the library to finish a book she'd been studying to make up for the missed year.

"Alright" Ron started, putting a dark mug in front of Harry. "Mulled wine, very little alcohol," he explained.

Harry sat back and took a drink. And then, to Ron's bemusement, laughed at himself.

"I'm upset about something stupid that will be over in three days."

Ron nursed his own drink and considered the statement. "It's not stupid, I don't think, or you wouldn't look so lost."

"How did you feel in fourth year, when Hermione went with Viktor to the ball? And you realized that you lost something you didn't know you had?"

Ron sighed and summoned the bottle. "Like I'd been crushed by a giant. What did Snape say?"

Harry looked up with surprise. "How'd you know it was him?"

"Harry. Give me some credit, you've been living with him and I know you're at least bisexual." Ron gave him a look that dared him to refute that, but Harry gave a small smile with the shake of his head.

"I don't want to know how you figured that out. Or when. But yeah, it's him."

"And he gave you an ultimatum?" Ron rolled the cork from the wine bottle between his fingers.

"Sort of. He went home, and said we needed to figure out what we're doing, because he'll want a real relationship." Harry turned his head towards the fireplace and grumbled to himself. "And he doesn't think I should be tied into that."

Ron shrugged. "You're beating yourself up over this. Do you like how you've been living?"

"Of course." Harry said, not needing to explain how safe he felt at Cairn Hollow, and how much he enjoyed the companionship. Ron understood.

"If you were living in a run down, smelly old tent, in the middle of winter, with very little food or heat, would you still be happy he was with you?"

Harry snorted at the memory of their past year camping. "Yes, I suppose I would." He looked up and smiled. "Yeah. I would."

"Then there's your answer. For some reason, you love being around the greasy bastard. And no matter what he says, nothing is forever; so don't start worrying where you'll be in twenty years. If you do, you'll lose where you are now."

Harry stared at him. "When did you get so philosophical?"

"I've been watching daytime Muggle television." Ron admitted with a sheepish grin, and pulled a small box out of his robe pocket. He started fiddling with it, and Harry watched his hands, trying not to laugh at his best friend.

"But that's it, Ron. I don't think I love him."

"I know, Harry. You'll learn the definition of that word one day." Ron's chuckle was mood lightening, and he passed the box to Hermione. "I'm going to ask her tonight. What do you think?"

Harry, feeling much warmer, inspected the hand carved wooden ring. "I think she'll love it."

….

Harry finally gave up on sleep at six am. He walked down to the kitchen, enjoying the calm blue tones that Hermione had chose to decorate it in. The old fixtures had been replaced by more modern ones, chosen surprisingly by Ron, and in no time Harry had made himself some tea. He searched the fridge to find the milk, his stomach aching a little when the expected bottles of root beer on the third shelf were not there. Right. This was not Cairn Hollow.

Harry sat at the table and drew out the package that Snape had given him the day before. His face flushed red when he remembered how childish he'd acted. Snape had been completely right, of course. Harry was taking advantage of him, flirting with him, and just expecting that their private little cottage would never change. Over the weeks since the Muggle Assignment, as they'd come to call it, they'd spent some nights touching, but had never gone any further. Harry shifted in his seat as he slipped his finger under the wrapping paper and slowly pulled the tape off.

Did he want it to go further? There was absolutely no doubt that Snape turned Harry on, a thought that Harry no longer found repulsive. Try as he might, he could not deny that the Snape of his first years at Hogwarts was definitely not the Snape living with him now.

Harry pulled back the paper and revealed a well-read copy of Death of a Salesman, pages earmarked and notes scribbled in familiar hand along the edges of the pages. A post it note was stuck to the front of the book.

"To further your theatrical education."

Harry opened the book and found, as he knew would be there, the name S. Prince on the top corner of the page. Underneath was written a quote. _I still feel kind of temporary about myself._

Harry sat back in the chair and finished his tea. He knew then just exactly what to wish for his birthday.

…

Harry was very restless on Saturday morning. He was leaving for Cairn Hollow in the afternoon, and no matter how many times Ron had reassured him, he was afraid that Snape wouldn't be there. His bags, long packed, sat at the door of his guest room, and he now sat relaxed on the new couch in the living room.

Hermione was pointing out different shades of paint that she'd chosen to brighten the room, and then regaled him of a tale about a shopping trip to some monstrosity of a store called IKEA. From the look on Ron's face, Harry knew that it had been a very long day there indeed.

"The furniture is all flat packed." Hermione stated, "meaning it's cheaper because you have to put it together yourself. It's meant to be rather easy, though we had a few issues." With this, she looked pointedly at Ron.

"We shall never speak of that again." Ron said, darkly.

Harry snickered at the mental images in his head. The furniture in the room looked alright, but only Merlin knew how long it had taken them to actually put it together.

"Harry."

He turned back to Hermione.

"You never told us about that night." She looked nervous, and Ron patted the hand she was resting on his thigh. Harry idly noted that the ring looked very good on her.

"What's it like on the other side?"

Harry pulled his feet up and crossed them underneath himself. "The other side of what?"

"Of...you know. The clouds." Hermione was blushing, but her interest was very apparent. Even Ron looked curious at his answer.

Harry wrung his hands together in his lap, inadvertently rubbing against the invisible ring he still wore.

"Let me think of how to explain it."

He closed his eyes and thought back to the Kings Cross train station where he'd found himself.

_Peaceful. Peaceful white noise surrounding him, calmness, lack of pain. Nothing like he'd expected. Except for that thing in the corner, that Harry now recognized as Voldemort's soul. Dumbledore appearing, congratulating him, asking him if he wanted to move on, reassuring him that he had less to fear upon returning than Voldemort did. Telling him that he should feel for those who lived without love. Harry remembered smiling. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, instead had been focusing only on providing a world without Voldemort for him and his friends. He'd always thought the love thing was a bunch of corny sentiments from an old world._

_Yeah. It had been worth coming back for._

On the couch, Harry let out a breath of air and opened his eyes again. He looked towards Ron and Hermione, who were watching him with curiosity.

"It was brilliant."

…..

In the small worn down living room of Spinner's End, Snape was concentrated on his hands. The ring had been pulsing warmth for a while, and he'd heard Harry's ponderings regarding his experience with Albus. Snape's bags had been sitting by the door already, in a small sign of hope that Snape didn't think he'd ever feel again. During the war he'd convinced himself that being a soldier was his only purpose in life.

But now, he allowed himself a real smile.

….

"I'm glad you were able to come Harry, hope you like how we decorated your house." Hermione gave him a huge hug, squeezing him tight like she used to do at school after he'd been injured.

"It's your house, Hermione. Yours and Ron's." Harry carefully extracted himself.

"Yeah, thanks mate. You really didn't have to." Ron's blush clashed horribly with his hair, but it was something Harry knew Hermione found cute.

"Think of it as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. You put up with a lot knowing me." Harry grabbed his bags and grinned at them.

"Yeah. We really do." Ron laughed. "Don't forget what I told you. Don't Weasley it up."

Hermione turned to look at him curiously, but before she could ask, Harry dropped his bag and clutched his left hand. The ring was blazingly hot.

"Harry? What's going on?"

Harry cradled his hand and drew out his wand. "It's Snape, something's wrong."

"Let's go then." Ron drew his own.

Harry looked at them uncertainly, and then held out his arm. "You're sure?"

"Positive." Hermione nodded, and they apparated away.

…..

Snape had been packing the last of his rare potion ingredients when the door to the living room had been scraped open. He'd had a split second to reach for his wand, wondering just how in the hell someone had passed the wards. Spinning around, Snape saw a short, portly man standing at the door.

"Cornelius Fudge." Snape acknowledged, keeping his voice steady.

"Professor Snape."

"Excuse me for not being more hospitable. I was not expecting guests." Snape's tone was even but threatening, and he had a death grip on his wand.

"I watched the Ministry set the wards here, Snape. I knew you'd come back."

Snape hated himself for it, but he subtly swiped his thumb over his own ring. The salvus was whispered and unheard by Fudge.

"Indeed, it is my house."

"Not if I had had my way. I do not enjoy being made a fool of, you should have been left with nothing." Fudge's face had turned colours as his anger grew, and Snape noted that it was a similar shade of red to Vernon Dursley's.

"I don't believe I've ever said a word against you in public." Snape tried to make himself sound bored and uninterested as he bought time.

"A Death Eater and murderer walking free with all crimes pardoned? You didn't have to." Fudge answered, reaching inside his jacket with speed that surprised Snape.

**Fudge is here.**

Snape drew fast and fired off a stunning hex, managing to hit Fudge's thigh. Snape winced as the man crashed into his bookcase, but felt relief that his aim had been true.

Less than two minutes later, the Golden Trio had run through the doorway, wands drawn and pointed around the room. Snape sat on the couch, his aim trained somewhere around Fudge's heart. He was not prepared for Weasley to start laughing.

"Fudge? Of all people, Fudge thinks he's going to beat _you_ in a duel?" Ron kicked the ex-minister's foot while Hermione muttered a quick incarcerous command.

Harry looked with concern towards Snape.

_Are you alright?_

**I…I'm fine. I do believe there is something wrong with Weasley though.**

_Actually, I think he just gave you a compliment._

"Where shall we send him?" Harry asked aloud, for the benefit of his friends and to keep secret the fact that they could communicate wordlessly.

"I've heard Antarctica is nice this time of year." Ron said with a smile.

Snape narrowed his eyes at Ron, but Hermione beat him to the punch, literally. As her hand glanced off his shoulder, Snape noticed the ring.

"Congratulations Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley." Snape pulled himself off the couch and went to inspect the damage to his bookcase.

Hermione stared at him. "Thanks, Professor. Ron's right though, we should do something with him."

Harry kneeled over and inspected Fudge's pockets for anything incriminating. "We can't just send him to the Ministry, I'm sure he'll start accusing Snape and us of attacking him and torturing him."

Ron didn't look all too bothered by that. "Well, if he wants to accuse… Anyway. How did you know Snape was in trouble, Harry?"

At the bookcase, Snape froze but didn't turn around.

"We...have a portkey of sorts." Harry stammered, looking between his friends. "From, you know, the threats in the paper and such."

"Which I should not have used for such a ridiculous intrusion." Snape continued, drawing the attention away from Harry's poor lying skills.

"Why not? It's supposed to be for emergencies." Harry stood and crossed his arms, looking annoyed with Snape.

"Because I don't want to be in another life debt to a Potter." Snape answered pointedly, in a tone that Harry now knew had no malice in it.

Harry shook his head. _You're not. It would be to a Prince._

Hermione and Ron propped Fudge up on the chesterfield and they cleared out of the way while Snape cast a rather strong obliviate spell on Fudge, before charming a piece of paper to act as a portkey and sending Fudge to a small monastery in Belgium that he'd visited once before as a child. Let them deal with Fudge for a few hours.

Ron helped Snape pack the rest of the books, acting remarkably mature, and Snape replied in kind by censoring most of his insults. Hermione oversaw the effort, but it did not take long for her to become distracted by an old textbook she'd found on one of the shelves. After twenty minutes they were ready to leave, and Snape shocked them all by allowing Hermione to borrow the book. The front door was locked, the wards were redone in Snape's own way, and a promise was made for dinner the following week before they all disappeared.

…

Snape landed roughly on the front step of Cairn Hollow. He stared at the old wooden door and pulled out his key, feeling that it had been years since he'd been home. Harry was behind him, not saying anything, and followed as Snape pushed the door open, walking back into the house. He placed his cloak on the hook beside Harry's, put his boots on the floor in his regular spot, and walked into the kitchen. One of his potions journals was still on the kitchen counter, where the delivery owl had left it. There were two unwashed empty bottles of root beer by the sink and his own old cast iron kettle that he insisted made the best tea still sitting on the stove. Snape looked above the fridge and the chipped plastic pumpkin he tossed his weekly grocery money in was still sitting there and smiling back at him. Harry had brought it home one day, claiming it to be a bucket that Muggle children collected treats in on Hallowe'en.

Snape felt comfort. He turned around to see Harry standing in the doorway, watching him with a mixture of relief and annoyance on his face.

"Don't say it." Snape warned, dropping his things on the kitchen floor.

"Say what?" Harry asked, caught off guard.

"You are either going to call me an idiot, Potter, or use that four letter word."

"You are an idiot." Harry huffed, moving towards Snape. "And you must be joking if you think I'm going to say the other."

"Good." Snape nodded, pulling Harry into his arms for an awkward hug. "I don't love you. I merely wish to continue living with you for my own personal entertainment."

Snape spoke into Harry's hair in a tone that betrayed him.

"And I for the verbal banter and insults." Harry confirmed, lying to himself as well.

He pulled back and picked up one of Snape's bags, heading towards the door.

"I don't know about you, but I haven't slept in three days. And tomorrow I want to learn how to drive. It's on my list."

…..

The blinds were left open in Snape's room that night, letting the moon filter across the comforter. There was no fire in the hearth, as it was warm enough for mid summer and Snape knew that Harry's body heat would keep him hot as well.

"I do believe I owe you an apology for your birthday, Mr. Potter." Snape commented with a low voice as he turned on the younger man in his bed.

"You called me Harry before." He managed to gasp out as Snape's lips assaulted his neck and collarbones.

"Don't hold your breath." Snape took a break to mutter. "It'll only happen once a year."

Harry only replied with a groan as he felt Snape's body roll atop him, and he forced his eyes to stay open as pleasure ripped along his nerve endings. He couldn't describe how good it felt to have Snape's weight pressing into him, but Harry hoped, as he looked into the dark eyes above him, that it was obvious. Something must have been communicated, because instead of the rough release that they'd been accustomed to, Harry felt like his body was being worshipped. Lips whisked over his skin finding sensitive spots he'd never even dreamed about, like the insides of his elbows. Fingers stroked, tugged, and massaged him, all while a steady pressure rocked into him, keeping his cock straining against his thin boxers. Harry could swear he could almost feel the contours of Snape's own erection through the thin undergarments.

Harry moaned when the pressure disappeared, but it was only gone for a few seconds before he felt hot skin against him; damp coarse hair whisking around his penis, and an impressive hardness rubbing along his. Come morning, Harry was determined to deny the undignified sounds he was currently making, but they'd never done this naked before and he was having trouble remembering how to breathe.

Harry all of a sudden felt Snape slide down him, strong hands gripping his hips. A hot and wet mouth engulfed him, and moments later Harry fell over the edge.


	9. Ch 9 Hogwarts Always Was Home

AN: Due to a relative being extremely ill at the moment I am a bit pressed for time to post the chapters, so the next few ones will probably have two or three days between them. Rest assured I will not abandon the story, as most of it is written anyway. I don't know for sure how many chapters are left, but it will continue up until at least May of 1999.

Thank you for the really kind comments! It's nice to know that my characterization is not too far off, as sometimes it's easy to get off path. Dumbledore appears in the chapter, and while I don't plan to make him as evil as some stories have, he will see a bit of come-uppance soon. :)

Ch 9 - Hogwarts Always Really Was Your Home.

Snape woke up to the familiar smells of pancakes on the griddle downstairs, and the horribly off key attempt at singing by Potter. He grimaced, pulling the bedcovers back and straining to hear the words. Something about a long December came screeching up the stairs, and Snape suddenly recognized the song.

"POTTER!" he yelled, pulling a knit sweater on and stomping down the stairs. "Bloody irritating idiot. Sacrilegious to do that to a Counting Crows album."

He muttered all the way to the kitchen, suppressing his amusement at finding Harry in the cluttered kitchen, bowls scattered about the counter, milk set out, juice poured in glasses and fruit in various stages of being chopped. Harry stood in the centre, flour covering his hands, using the spatula as a microphone.

Snape fought a smile and sat down.

"Man it's been so long since I've seen the ocean." Harry announced, dipping dramatically as he served a plate of pancakes.

"I guess you should." Snape replied, reaching for the syrup. He definitely stayed at Cairn Hollow for the amusement.

Harry moved behind him and gently put his hands on Snape's shoulders, giving him a hesitant rub, gaining in confidence when Snape exhaled and dipped his head forward a little, allowing better access.

"Is this alright?" Harry murmured, not wanting to push too far. One of Snape's hands came up to cover Harry's, giving it an encouraging squeeze, before dropping back down to his lap.

After a minute Harry stopped, and leaned in, taking a second to kiss the top of Snape's head and nuzzle in the hair.

"Not greasy." He smirked triumphantly, sitting down across the table with his plate.

Snape looked up with a quirked eyebrow. "That rumour is one I started, I'll have you know. "

"Really?" Harry asked, looking shocked. "You want people to call you a greasy git?"

"Not exactly." Snape scowled, ignoring Harry's blush. "But I had a role to play, and the less pleasant and attractive I seemed was the safest for my time as a spy."

"Huh. Must have been hard pretending to be ugly every day." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and Harry knew his blush was rivaling a Weasley one at the moment. "Right, I'll just stuff my face now," he muttered.

Snape looked dangerously amused.

…

After a pleasantly silent breakfast, Harry sat back and sipped his tea. He was dressed in casual Muggle clothes, and was quite energetic. They'd phoned around and made some inquiries the night before to local car agencies in Abersoch, and today Harry and Snape were going to learn how to drive. He had the amusing feeling, that even though Snape was a half-blood, Harry would be better at driving. In fact, he was almost willing to bet on it. Harry regarded Snape and thought about the memory of younger Snape bucking out of control on the broom. He grinned.

"Don't look at me like that, Potter." Snape stared back, suspicious.

"What do you say to a wager, Snape?" Harry's eyes glinted.

"A wager of what?"

"Ten galleons. That I'm a better driver than you."

Snape gave Harry a mock scowl. "And how exactly do you plan to measure how successful either you or I are at driving?"

Confusion screwed up Harry's face. "Hadn't thought of that." He admitted.

"Of course not." Snape rolled his eyes. The finished dishes were banished to the sink. "When can we expect Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to be visiting?"

"You're taking that surprisingly well, you know." Harry commented, standing up and stretching.

"I am not taking anything well, Potter. They've been here before, you invited them again."

"I did," Harry agreed, pensive. "We'll be on our best behaviour."

Snape snorted. "You don't even know the definition of the term. However, I do feel the need to explain my recent alarming and temporary change in personality, as I would appreciate neither of them spreading rumours about my private life."

Harry looked momentarily lost, but then smiled.

"Oh, it's covered. I told them you were going through menopause."

Snape stilled his hands that were checking his wallet for Muggle money. "You said…never mind. I am not even going to dignify that with a response."

"Probably best you didn't." Harry cheerfully responded. He bounded out towards the door to go upstairs, excited at the task for the morning. Snape's voice stopped him at the second step.

"Twenty galleons on you getting the first speeding ticket."

….

After five days of driving and thirteen stalls of the rental car, neither had gotten a speeding ticket. To Harry's annoyance, Snape had mastered the stick shift faster than he had, but Harry was much smoother on the turns and keeping his speed regulated. They'd spent all day Thursday looking at a car to buy for around Cairn Hollow, Snape arguing for practicality and Harry arguing for an Aston Martin, because it was a Bond car. He'd seen a Bond movie once at the Dursley's, and didn't care for anything from the movie except for the car. Snape said nothing, instead just pointed to the brand new 1999 Audi coupe that was in the show room in Abersoch.

Harry was left speechless, and they bought it an hour later. He christened the car Icarus, and ignored Snape's mocking laughter.

On Friday afternoon Snape answered the heavy oak front door to find Weasley and Granger standing on the step, holding a small bag and a bottle of white wine. They were staring at him, and Snape supposed it was because he was wearing blue jeans and a dark blue polo shirt, his bare forearms coloured with sun from working out in the herb garden. Weasley had the manners to keep his mouth shut, but Granger didn't bother to hide her surprise.

"Good afternoon." Snape offered, neutrally.

"Hello." Ron put on a smile and offered the bottle of wine. "Mead's too heavy in the summer."

"Come on in! He doesn't bite!" Harry yelled from the kitchen.

Hermione's cheeks blushed red a little and she stepped in, blurting a hello.

Snape smiled back, letting his fangs slowly grow down below his bottom lip.

Harry came into the hallway to find his two best friends standing flush against the wall and eyeing Snape, who was putting muggle money in his pocket and fishing through the bucket in the wardrobe for the car keys. Harry gave Hermione a hug and Ron a friendly punch, before taking their bag and turning to tell Snape that he needed more milk for the dessert. Snape nodded and left, a smile on his face that looked anything but innocent.

"Are you sure he won't bite, mate?" Ron offered, following Harry into the kitchen.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, moving to the kitchen window and watching Snape get into the car.

"Err… what just happened out there?" Harry asked, pointing to the hallway.

"He's in the sun, Hermione. He can't be a vampire." Ron crossed his arms and shook his head.

"Oh." Harry started to laugh.

"Harry! It's not funny, he could attack you in your sleep!"

"Who says he doesn't?" Harry smirked at her.

"Too much information." Ron held up his hand at that.

"He's not a vampire, Hermione." Harry smiled, before opening his mouth and growing his own teeth down to fangs. "It's a spell. Like the one Malfoy hit you with at school a few years ago."

Hermione looked disgustedly at Harry. "He taught you a spell to make it look like you had vampire fangs."

"It will be perfect for Hallowe'en?" Harry offered weakly, before joining in on Ron's laughter. Harry had a tray prepared with the chicken and spices he needed to make dinner, and was handing it off to Ron.

"What did you mean by too much information, Ronald?" Hermione had turned to face her boyfriend, noticing the identical blushes on both her friends' faces.

"Library is straight through there, Hermione. Snape's got some really interesting books." Harry blurted out as they fled outside.

Ron stared at the metal contraption on the patio with a confused look.

"I know what it is. I know it's a barbeque." Ron confirmed, looking over the muggle recipe book that they had. "But I'm not sure how to light it. And what they want me to do to the chicken is just wrong."

Harry silently agreed. He had a bag of charcoal out and poured into the bottom of the barbeque, and a small bottle of lighter fluid out on the table.

"I think we pour the stuff on, and then light it."

"How much, do you think?" Ron studied the can, looking for instructions.

"Erm. Enough." Harry answered, waiting as Ron poured a bunch onto the charcoal. In the distance, he heard gravel crunching under the wheels of the car as it returned to the driveway.

Ron pointed his wand at the barbeque and muttered _incendio_. A loud roar was sounded and they both jumped back, watching the fireball explode out of the barbeque and leap upwards, almost as if a giant match had been lit.

"_Wicked_." Ron breathed out, staring as the fire started to burn down to something more manageable. The car door slammed and Snape walked around to the back kitchen door, but neither turned to look.

"First you burn the kitchen table, now the barbeque. Don't even think of going anywhere near the cellar, Potter."

Harry waved him off without a glance, and Snape went inside muttering. They turned back to the patio table and Harry grabbed the tall beer can standing there, popping it open and holding it steady.

Looking absolutely disgusted, Ron picked up the raw chicken and settled it carefully over the can, impaling it. They placed the chicken over the flames, and stood back to admire the handiwork.

"Muggles are strange."

…

"So, Professor McGonagall wants me to tell you that she would like for both of you to attend the re-opening ceremony of Hogwarts." Hermione was sitting comfortable in a chair on the patio, finishing off her salad. "Actually, she told me to tell you Harry, and then you're to tell Professor Snape, because you're his secret keeper. So to speak."

Harry nodded and reached for more chicken. "When is it?"

"August nineteenth. She also asked me to pester you both about your answer regarding the teaching positions. And by the way, why are you not telling anyone that Professor Snape is living here?"

Ron sat back in his seat, finally full, and snorted. "Oh brilliant, Hermione. That won't be all over the papers. Boy Who Lived Shacking Up and Shagging Ex Death Eater."

"Mr. Weasley." Snape said sternly, though there was amusement in his eyes. He slapped Harry rather hard on the back as the man choked on his wine.

"You're not…" Hermione looked a bit like fish out of water. "Is this why you kicked me out of the kitchen on Harry's birthday?" She turned on Ron in a flash, and he looked slightly worried.

"Hermione, you always tell me not to go barging in on other people's personal lives, and Harry needed to talk with someone who wouldn't play 20 questions."

She huffed and looked back across the table. Snape had stopped smacking Harry's back, and seemed to be subconsciously rubbing a small circle on it instead. Harry was melting into the touch, and looked like he was accustomed to small gestures like that from Snape.

"I guess you'll need help keeping this a secret if you work at Hogwarts." Ron continued.

"Indeed, Mr. Weasley." Snape replied, summoning the dessert from the kitchen. "Though I don't believe Mr. Potter and I have set the definition of "this.""

Ron started cutting the sponge cake, dishing it out to everyone. "I don't think you will, sir. I mean, no offense Harry, but you suck at relationships." He was smirking, and failed to duck when Harry flung a piece of cake at him.

"But why would you keep it a secret?" Hermione asked, a bit put out that Ron had known before she did.

"Have you been keeping abreast of Muggle news from the United States of America, Miss Granger?"

"You could call them Ron and Hermione, you know." Harry interjected, summoning a root beer for Snape.

"I won't." Snape reassured, accepting the bottle with a nod.

"I've read a bit, and we've seen some of the news on the telly. It's been nice to know what's going on in that world too." Hermione confirmed, ignoring Harry's comment.

"Yes. I'm sure then you've heard of the sexual misconduct scandal the president has found himself in?" Snape stiffened slightly as Harry's bare foot found it's way over to rest upon his own.

Ron brightened with recognition. "Yeah, with the Monica lady, right?"

"Precisely. It's become a large media circus, a joke amongst other nations, and in ten years, neither the name Clinton nor Lewinsky will be forgotten. Indeed, they will likely be mentioned in history books as another scandal that corrupted US politics, and known as jokes amongst people who do not wish to become caught up in such a situation themselves. And Miss Lewinsky, due to her position, will no longer be able to complete the simplest of daily errands without the prejudice above her head."

The foot was rubbing slowly along his, toes flexing and capturing his own. Snape was surprised to find it a rather enjoyable feeling.

"I don't quite understand. Why would there be a scandal like that if you two were to be honest in public?" Hermione's faced looked worried, and it was plain to see how fast her brain was working to figure out the risks involved and the connection to the current White House scandal.

"Hermione, I'm the Boy who Lived. Anyone I date, even if it is a pure young witch with only good intentions, will be dissected and chased about in the newspaper. As you pointed out on the day you met me, I'm already in a few history books." Harry leaned back and rested his arm on the back of Snape's chair, whisking his fingers along the broad shoulder he found himself drawn to.

"Alright, Harry. He was a Death Eater, and if people find out you're dating, there will be a pandemic. They'll think you were confounded or they'll accuse you of going to the dark side."

"And Snape will be cursed six ways to Sunday if he went out in public." Harry nodded.

"We won't say a word. You'd better be worth it, Harry." Ron smirked with a wink.

…

Snape stepped out of McGonagall's office fireplace, dusting a fleck of ash off his pressed black dress shirt. His coat was held in his arm, as Wales had been much too hot earlier to wear it. Minerva sat behind the great Headmaster's desk, and nodded at him.

"Minerva." Snape acknowledged, stepping to the side and holding his arm out again. A minute later Harry tripped out of the green fire and caught himself on Snape's arm, causing the older man to roll his eyes.

"You have four fireplaces in your cottage Potter, should you ever be inclined to practice."

Minerva smiled tiredly and waved over to two chairs at the front of the desk.

"Good to see you both relatively unharmed." She stated, checking over them to ensure her statement was valid. Snape raised his eyebrows in return, but didn't comment. Harry smiled at her and pointedly ignored Snape.

"Severus, as I have taken over your post as Headmistress, I will require you to unward the private quarters please. I plan to relocate my furnishings before the beginning of school."

Snape offered a tiny shrug, before flicking his wand at the spiral stairs. Above their heads they could hear things being scraped across the floor as Snape's remaining possessions packed themselves.

"Thank you. Mr. Potter, will you be accepting the teaching position?"

Harry shuffled in his seat and saw Dumbledore listening intently in the portrait. "I will. But I don't want to stay in the dormitories, and I'd like the chance to study for some NEWTS."

"I'm sure that can be arranged." Minerva smiled. "We'll have our first staff meeting three days before the students arrive, and I'd like to see a syllabus of sorts by then."

Harry nodded as Snape picked at a thread on his chair with feigned boredom.

"Is there anything else, Headmistress, or may we get on with this gaudy celebration?" he asked, ignoring the glares from the portraits.

"Sheesh, you don't need to be rude, Snape." Harry glared, sounding annoyed.

"Says the boy with deplorable manners. It's _Professor_ Snape to you." He bit back in return.

Minerva rapped her desk with her wand and got both men's attention. "Gentlemen. Severus, does that mean I have the honour of introducing you as my esteemed colleague once again?" The look she gave almost dared him to say no.

"No head of house duties, fourth to seventh year potions, and a raise." Snape sat tall in the chair and kept his face blank.

"Fine." Minerva gritted out, summoning a piece of parchment to write out the contract.

"And I want to teach a literature class."

Harry had known it was coming, but snorted anyway. "You want to teach students how to read? I'm sure that will go over well." He rolled his eyes and discreetly activated his ring.

"As glaring as your shortcomings may have been, Potter, students will be required to already have mastered the ability to read before entering my class."

"Crabbe and Goyle are out then." Harry murmured, blushing at the sharp reprimanding look from Minerva.

"As an elective, Severus, and only if I approve the syllabus. And I wish you to co-teach fifth, sixth, and seventh year defense classes."

"What?" Harry blurted out, acting insulted. "I'm not working with him!"

Snape looked equally off put.

"Harry Potter." Minerva sounded exasperated. "You saved his life. Surly you can handle teaching three classes with him."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts." Harry pointed out. "You're giving him permission to hex me."

"I assure you, any personal pleasure I derive from it will be purely accidental." Snape's eyes glinted and Harry had seen that look before.

_I think we've almost got her._

**One more round.**

"Professor," Harry pleaded, turning to Minerva. "if you're trying to make us get along by forcing us to spend time together, it won't work. He'd rather string me up by my toes."

"Nonsense." Snape huffed in mock annoyance. "Your toes are not nearly strong enough to hold up your scrawny frame for an acceptable amount of time."

"Oh enough." Minerva huffed out. "You'll both do it because you're the best we've got in Scotland, and you both owe me a debt. Now get out, I need to work on living arrangements." She dismissed them with a wave of her hand and a reminder to be at the staff stage for the ceremony in an hour. As Snape shoved Harry out the door, he sent another message through the ring.

**Do you owe her a debt? I think she just invented that.**

_How very Slytherin of her,_ came the response.

…..

Once they'd left Minerva pulled the charmed map of Hogwarts out and set it on the desk. Due to the extra students returning for the missed seventh year, the building would be remarkably full upon the first of September. Even the Slytherin dungeons had been expanded, taking up part of the destroyed quarters that had once been Snape's. Now she needed to find another place to put Severus Snape, and one for Harry Potter. Both, she knew, would want privacy.

"Minerva dear." Dumbledore's voice called out to her and disturbed her thoughts. Somehow, even in the painting form, his eyes glittered.

"I couldn't help overhearing that our boys are still not getting along." He sat in a ridiculously hideous purple robe, with a small round beret on his head. _Our boys?_ Minerva thought with disbelief, staring at his relaxed form.

"No, Albus. Though I don't believe they wish to kill each other anymore." She prodded the map again, wondering just how close Severus needed to be to the dungeon potion rooms.

"Young Harry did hit upon a splendid idea, however." He sounded as if he was talking to himself, but Minerva's ears pricked up. This did not sound good.

"When my mother wished Aberforth and I to see eye to eye on something, she often sent us to the same room for a while. Of course, the point is negated when one is a wizard and can apparate, but the sentiment was appreciated all the same."

"How much varnish have you inhaled?" Minerva looked disbelieving. "I do believe you just suggested placing Mr. Potter and Severus Snape in the same quarters to live."

"Well, you need the space Minerva. And they're grown men now, I'm sure it will be fine." He looked pleased with himself.

"You're a sadist, Albus Dumbledore. There is simply no other explanation."

…..

Greeley watched the re-opening ceremony from a spot near the back of the crowd, his disguise firmly in place and his quill poised neatly to record the actions and speeches of those around him. He wasn't sure why he was compelled to attend, as Fudge hadn't been in contact with him for more than a week, but something had told him both his targets would be present at the festival. And there they were, Harry Potter standing near the middle of the platform and looking desperately like he wanted to escape from the stage, and Snape standing off to the side, by himself, arms crossed as if he had been cursed with imperius and forced to stand there. Judging by the fierce look of Headmistress McGonagall, Greeley figured this might not be too far off from the truth.

The speeches were given, and Greeley hastily wrote down as much information as he could when he heard the announcements of the teaching staff. If Fudge returned, he did not mind offering up the notes for payment. If not, they'd serve as kindling. There were other stories he could pursue, stories that did not involve an unhinged ex-minister demanding blatant lies to seek revenge. If he could only find the idiot, Greeley would have been happy to tell Fudge exactly where he could take the assignment and shove it. His third cousin was coming to visit soon; perhaps it was time for a change of scenery.

….

Most of Cairn Hollow was left unpacked, as neither Snape nor Harry had fully planned what to bring to Hogwarts, and being professors they could take an afternoon to return to the cottage via portkey or apparition and pick up forgotten necessities. When Minerva had told them they'd be living together, there had been a spectacular argument in the hallway outside the headmistress' office, which had resulted in a singed tapestry and one very annoyed gargoyle. Harry didn't quite remember all he'd said, but he did remember Snape being quite creative with his insults. In the end, Harry didn't care what had been said, as they'd achieved what they wanted. They had been ordered to become roommates, which meant larger than normal quarters at Hogwarts, and no need to sneak out to visit each other in the middle of the night.

Snape figured an over-abundant basket of clotted cream fudge would be required at Christmas to calm Minerva's nerves. He felt a little guilty, but guarded his privacy fiercely. Perhaps they'd tell her later.

…

On the morning of the twenty-fifth Snape and Harry had arrived very early at Hogwarts, slightly eager to begin the construction of their flat. They had taken an hour to walk around the castle both inside and out in order to ascertain the best spot to begin, finally deciding on the level beneath the great hall and front entryway, which was currently being used as an old storage hallway. That area of Hogwarts was at the edge of the cliff down to the lake, and no one had ventured to do much renovation there due to the horrific winds that battered the rock.

Between Snape and Harry however, and a little help from some demolition potions, an area of 75 square meters (800 square feet) had been cleared away, with two rough bedrooms and a bathroom separated with interlocking pieces of discarded stone. Markings were made for the windows, and measurements were taken and noted down. They had a meeting in London later that afternoon, and would be furniture shopping afterward.

Just before leaving, Snape turned to the rooms and locked the door carefully, ensuring to ward it with similar spells to the wards on Cairn Hollow.

"Just in case some cat is overcome with curiosity." He smirked to Harry.

…

The meeting would be a quick and dirty one, as all three were busy and it looked like the Prime Minister had a small crisis on his hands.

"Krantz is coming back. He's got a plane ticket, return after three weeks, and appears to be coming on his own business to London in the middle of September. We haven't figured out his plans yet, but we have been watching him."

Snape nodded and took the reports he'd been handed. Whomever the Prime Minister had hired to follow Krantz, they'd been very thorough.

"Do you wish for us to be in London when he returns?" Snape flipped through the papers quickly before passing them to Harry.

"Yes." The Prime Minister stood and started shoving folders into his briefcase. "Same terms as before, and we'll let you know the details of his plans when we know them. I have a feeling he's meeting someone here to get more of that potion you told me about."

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked, immediately alert.

"He's been sending messages in the USA to someone, and it seems he's sending it with an owl. The security service thought it very strange, but I do believe it's something you do in your world."

He regarded both Snape and Harry's faces, which suddenly dropped blank.

"It would appear I am right."

"You are." Harry confirmed after a minute. Snape conjured up a piece of paper and started writing on it with a ballpoint pen he'd fished out of his pocket.

"This is a phone number you may use to reach us if you have pertinent information regarding Krantz. We do not have a…" Snape paused, wracking his brain for the word.

"Answering machine." Harry supplied.

"One of those, as it will not function properly in the castle. Phone often enough, one of us will answer at one point." Snape passed the paper over to the Prime Minister.

"Thanks." He was distracted, picturing a castle in his mind full of wizards and witches, barely noticing when the two disappeared.

…

The little stone flat was quite bright for the early morning, but then again, their quarters had full floor to ceiling windows carved into the rough rock of the Hogwarts cliff. Dungeons indeed.

Harry was speechless, seeing it finally complete after four full days of work, feeling the warmth of the sun soaked stone beneath his feet as he inspected each room. Their front hallway had three doors, one to the outer lower halls, one to Snape's office, and one to Harry's office, magically enhanced to port right to those locations. Once inside the entry, a short hall ended at the living room, a comfortable space that was almost rectangular shaped, that had a huge fireplace, a warm slate grey coloured couch (Harry had refused leather because he found it always cold) and two deep green armchairs poised by the fire. The back walls, which contained a door towards the washroom and bedrooms, were lined with a weathered teak shelving system and stacked artistically with books. Snape had insisted on picking the wood, as he was not a fan of mahogany and quite peculiar of which tones he wanted. Harry didn't care as much, though after it was done he had to admit the effect was astonishing. The room was decidedly masculine, and the dark grayish blue walls complimented the couch. The teak was not too dark, and indeed, in the small study nook the two relatively thin desks were not overly imposing. A few framed photos were placed carefully around the room, and a few small trinkets graced the bookshelves. Neither man lived to show off, and it reminded them both of the comfortableness of Cairn Hollow.

Beyond the study nook were the bedrooms, one small guest room done in earthy brown tones mixed with deep blue and wood, and the elegant master bedroom. Snape had suggested a Danish furniture store in London for the room, as he was determined to have a relaxing bedroom and not the ornately carved elegant, and overly pompous designs of English Muggle and Wizard higher classes. Together they had enough money to never worry about working, however Snape refused to think of himself as "well off." He'd seen what riches had done to the minds lesser men.

So they'd spent six hours searching through London, enjoying the comforts of anonymity as they shopped. The rewards had come, and the bedroom was finally finished. Walls painted in a bold earth green, ocean blue drapes to cover the windows, light touches of cream around the baseboards and window frames. An elegant honey wood bed with a strong and very simple headboard, a matching short dresser and side tables built into the headboard. The green bedspread matched the walls perfectly, as did the blue sheets that peeked out from under the pillows to match the drapes. A deep red throw blanket had been haphazardly tossed across the foot of the bed, one of Harry's favourite blankets to snuggle into.

The room that Harry had been allowed to decorate solely was painted in the same earthy red colour as the blanket. The kitchen was not overly large, however the space was exquisitely designed for creating gastronomical masterpieces. Snape may have been Potions Master, but Harry was king of his kitchen. Snape had patiently trooped from store to store as Harry went to stock their kitchen, and knew the rewards would far outweigh this time spent out shopping yet again.

…..

Kreacher found them sleeping late the next morning, and the little elf did not quite have it in him to not look disgusted at the sight of his naked masters climbing slowly out of bed. He offered breakfast however, and brought the mail in, before graciously disappearing. Snape idly thought about dosing the elf with a mild euphoria elixir, and then shuddered when he remembered the hyperness of Dobby.

Harry yawned and stretched, making a beeline for the washroom and trying to beat Snape there. He won by mere seconds, and pretended to look sympathetic at the glare he received.

"You know, you made the shower big enough for two."

"So I did." Snape replied, unmoving and looking slightly ridiculous with his erection pointed directly at Harry.

"So get in." Harry growled, flicking on the bathroom lights and pulling Snape into the shower with him.

The water was just a few degrees shy of too hot, driving the cold sleepiness out of them. Harry wasted no time lathering up his hands with soap, pulling Snape to stand flush with his back to Harry's front. He slowly began rubbing the suds across Snape's body, starting with the taut muscular shoulders, and working his way one at a time down each of Snape's arms, circling and massaging as he went. More soap was applied to Snape's back, Harry's fingers pulsing around the scars that littered his partner's body, telling more of Snape's bravery and courage than any disdainful comparison to the Gryffindor house ever could.

Harry could feel Snape relaxing in his arms as he continued his massage, bringing his hands to Snape's chest and spreading the soap there. The sparse chest hair was covered in bubbles, and Harry's fingers flicked gingerly over Snape's hard nipples, causing the wizard to take a sharp breath. Harry's left hand found it's way over Snape's heart, stilling there.

"These are the scars you never show." Harry murmured into Snape's shoulder, unaware that Snape had heard him.

His hands continued down, squeezing appreciatively at Snape's hips, spreading soap into the coarse black hairs around the man's belly and groin, skillfully avoiding the hard penis that was seemingly dancing in the spray of water. A groan borne half out of frustration only caused him to keep his maddeningly slow pace.

Harry knelt down and let the water fall all around him as he washed Snape's thighs and lower legs, fingers squeezing the defined muscles as he moved down. After ensuring Snape's feet were also cleaned properly, Harry put his hand to the small of Snape's back and pushed him forward gently, waiting as Snape braced himself against the wall. Harry lathered more soap, finally washing the firm bum that he had been admiring since before the shower had started. Harry kissed the back of Snape's thighs as his fingers rubbed between Snape's cheeks and all over his rear, before Harry directed a spray of water gently in that area to wash the soap out.

Snape thought he had been extremely patient thus far with the slow and teasing touches, and was just contemplating hexing Potter to hurry it up when he felt something wet and _warm _sliding along his crease, from the base of his perineum all the way up to…there. Snape gasped and spread his legs automatically.

"Potter." Snape grunted out as the tongue mercilessly flicked and swirled his skin, teasing and pleasuring all at once. "You're a bloody prude."

"How's that, Snape?" Harry paused just long enough to ask.

Snape swore as the tongue pushed inside him. He hoped the stone floor would be forgiving, because he was sure his knees would betray him and collapse shortly. His face was pressed firmly against the tile wall and he did not care one knut how undignified he looked as long as Potter did not stop what he was doing until the end of time. Or possibly after that.

"You.." Snape gasped as a hand slithered past his hips and grasped his erection firmly. "won't have sex." Another deep breath was managed. "But you have your tongue… aaagh."

Harry had finally managed to time his strokes and tongue thrusts together. If Snape could still talk then he wasn't doing this properly. "I'm saving that for the wedding night." Harry said cheekily, and before Snape could process what he'd said, Harry had added a finger to his tongue, twisting it slightly and hitting Snape's prostate. The muffled grunt and spasm that Harry was rewarded with nearly spurned his own orgasm, though he managed to hold off and continue hitting that spot until Snape came with an intensity that Harry had never managed himself.

Snape slid down the wall into Harry's waiting arms, feeling blissfully spent.

"Ready to face the monsters tomorrow?" Harry asked, with a small grin.

"You won't be laughing after your first day." Snape replied, running his fingers lazily through Harry's hair.

"Probably not." Harry agreed, sighing as Snape stood and pulled him up as well.

"We have some free time today to complete something on your list, if you wish." Snape commented lightly, summoning two large towels from the linen closet. Apparently they'd forgotten to unpack a few things.

"Excellent, learning how to swim it is. Out now, I need to use the loo."

Snape gave him a glare, but wrapped his towel around himself and opened the bathroom door.

"Fine. And Potter, if you ever mention marriage again during sex, I will ensure that blue balls becomes more than just colloquialism for you."

Harry gulped and closed the door, not quite sure if he'd correctly read the sarcasm in Snape's voice or not.


	10. Ch 10 A Lesson From Pranking

AN: Please ignore any typos, I'll fix them tomorrow. Pygmy, Tsuri - I haven't posted about the story on any LJ communities, so I don't think it's that well known. But thanks for the nice reviews! I am not an author that blackmails people to leave reviews, so I shall just leave my thanks to you and the others who have dropped me a line. :)

This chapter seems a bit childish perhaps on Snape and Harry's part, but what's the point in going back to Hogwarts if you can't play with people? :)

Ch 10 - A Lesson From Pranking

Harry stood in front of the mirror in the hall, smoothing his robes. The opening feast would start in an hour, and for the first time he was nervous at how he looked. Hands startled him when he felt someone warm against his back. Snape's fingers softly pulled the tie straight, smoothing out Harry's collar.

"You'll be fine. Just remember to glare. And the less we appear to like each other, like before, the less people will bother us."

Entering the hall, Harry moved to sit as far away from Snape as he could. He ended up talking to Hagrid first, before looking annoyed that Minerva had steered Snape to sit beside him. "You have to appear as colleagues to the students. " She hissed.

They all filed in and Harry found the noise much more deafening than before. He watched the sorting hat with interest, fighting laughter from Snape's running commentary through the rings. Finally Minerva stood to make her announcements.

"Welcome back to a brand new year at Hogwarts. This is a new beginning for everyone, and now that the war is over, I want you all to study hard, and have fun this year." Minerva smiled, and waved towards the staff table.

"Please welcome our new Muggle Studies professor, Daniel McRua." There was polite clapping from the students. "And Professor Snape has returned to teach upper year potions, classic literature, and the upper year Defense Against the Dark Arts. He will be teaching with Professor Potter. Professor Potter will take the lower year Defense classes as well." A gasp sounded throughout the hall and the gossip started, only softening a little as the food was served.

Dinner started and a few owls straggled in to deliver late mail and the evening prophet. A letter was dropped for Harry by a strange owl, and he poked at it with his fork. Snape was concentrated on his own dinner, but pointed his wand at the letter and whispered an incantation.

**It's safe.**

Harry opened it to find an atrociously badly written proposal letter. Ever since it had been announced that Harry would come out of seclusion and teach at Hogwarts, he'd been pestered with at least fifty proposal letters. Snape had found the ones that came in howler form to be most amusing. This one Harry had folded into a paper plane after reading, and was just holding it up when Snape brought his wand up and set fire to it. Harry yelped, dropping the burning plane and drawing attention to them. Snape had a satisfied smirk on his face, which Harry tried to counter with his best glare. Any comments were halted with Minerva's harsh tone.

"Could you not set fire to each other on the _very first day_?"

…

Harry fought his way through the corridors to the classroom, suddenly understanding why Snape had dressed him in dark robes. He blended in with the students and had already passed most of them by the time they recognized him.

He entered his classroom and stared at the first years. He didn't want to scare the students, but he knew the importance of establishing firm roles. Snape had helped him work on his speech.

"Good morning." Harry said, withdrawing his wand and rolling it between his fingers. "I am here to teach you to think on your feet, to learn to expect the worst, survive the best, and to remain calm when all you can do is fly by the seat of your pants and hope for once that sheer dumb luck is on your side. If any of you think that because Voldemort is gone that you don't need to learn defensive techniques, I am afraid that you are in for a very sore year."

The class stared, and no one said a word. After a minute, one timid hand raised in the back of the class.

"Professor Potter, why do you need to teach us to remain calm?

"Because," Harry started, standing forward and dimming the lights in the room. "when one is facing their mortal enemy, and knows death is merely a spell away, remaining calm is sometimes the only life line you have."

…..

Snape found him later that day, for the last Defense class. It was a sixth year class, and Harry was showing his fatigue at that point. Most of the older students had settled back into the school routine, and Harry was grateful that Snape's glare quieted the class down. These students were accustomed to the stern potions professor, and though the news of Snape's role in the war was wide spread, most were a little wary of him still.

After two hours of having the students do a short test and demonstration to show their skills, Harry let them go without homework. He locked the door and sat back in his chair, closing his eyes.

"How exactly do you do this, every day?" Harry slumped forward and sighed appreciatively when strong hands squeezed his shoulders.

"I suppose you think my charming personality is an inborn trait, as apposed to a cultivated one?"

"Mmh. Never thought about it. When's dinner?"

"In an hour. Come, I believe the flat is quieter than this classroom." The unspoken word of privacy was not needed. Harry nodded, and let Snape leave the room, stalking down the hallway in the direction of the Great Hall. Harry slipped into his office, using the new side door to appear in their little flat's hallway.

He walked into the flat and to the kitchen, pulling out two root beers, and then dropped his notes on his desk. Snape walked in a few minutes later, tossing his own notes and outer robe on the other desk.

The day had not gone too poorly, and Harry knew that after a few weeks he'd be feeling fully confident teaching the classes. He sat on their new chesterfield with his drink, and they spent the hour going over the day and comparing how their classes went, before needing to return to the hall for dinner. It was a habit that was easily formed, and one that Snape found himself enjoying immensely. He'd never had someone to come home to before after work.

Near the end of the week, Snape had finally suggested a demonstrative duel for the upper classes, as it was the best way to show the students how the theory behind curses was as important as the ability to cast them. Harry had once thought that dueling had been only about getting the first shot out, but after practicing with Snape over the summer and finding himself on numerous occasions well-acquainted with the ground, he very much agreed that knowing the patterns and properties of curses was very handy information. He couldn't predict the exact curse coming, but the body stature and power behind them left room for detailed analysis.

Harry agreed to the duel, and they chose to stage it the following Tuesday. Before they were able to do that, however, a quick trip to London would be made with the chance of meeting up with Kevin Krantz once again.

…

"This is Baker Street." Harry proclaimed, folding the map away.

Snape didn't respond, but instead started walking up the street towards the golf course at the other end. After a few moments he stopped in front of one of the row houses, pointing up at the metal placard on the wall. 221b, Baker Street. He opened the gate for Harry, and they both stepped up to the door.

"Never pictured you as one for Sherlock Holmes." Harry muttered, following Snape up the narrow stairs of the house. The museum was small, and set up as if it were the actual house occupied by Holmes and Watson.

"I do love a man with a flair for mystery." Snape replied distractedly, inspecting all the medicinal bottles and ingredients over by Watson's desk.

Harry raised his eyebrow at this, but didn't say a thing. A visit to this museum was on Snape's list of things to do, and they had an hour to kill before needing to be in the area where Krantz would be. He patiently waited for Snape to finish browsing the museum, taking a moment to check out the gift shop. Harry picked up a small collapsible telescope on a whim and bought it, just to have as a surprise one rainy day.

"Ah, I think it's time we take our leave." Snape noted, coming up behind Harry and startling him.

"Alright." Harry smiled. "I've been checking out some of the books; you do have a strange taste in literature. Lots of murder."

They sat in a small café enjoying their lunch, sitting by the window near the railway station. It was quite warm for September, and the breeze was enjoyable, though neither Snape nor Harry were paying too much attention to either the weather or their lunches. Harry stiffened first when he saw Krantz leave the station, walking out into the square with a piece of roll luggage behind him. Snape turned to watch, quickly catching sight of the man.

Krantz looked slightly bronzer than at the beginning of the summer, and he was dressed more casual than he ever had at the conference. He walked with purpose out across the street, and stood next to a phone booth. A second man appeared, dressed in an ill-fitting suit that looked a few years out of style. He had short blond hair, a crooked nose that had been broken once or twice in the past, and pale skin.

Snape tapped his knife on the table. "I have seen that man somewhere before."

Harry stared hard at the features, trying to make sense of them. After a moment he just shook his head, unable to place the person. Krantz looked nervous, yet happy, to be seeing the man, and together they strode off towards the west end of the square.

"I haven't, but that doesn't mean much. I don't always notice people."

"Allow me to refrain from showing my shock at that statement. Wouldn't want to make a scene." Snape turned his lips up in a tiny smile and pulled out money to pay for their lunch.

"Believe me, as a student, it was profoundly annoying how well you remembered things." Harry retorted in mock annoyance. "Come on, Krantz should be at the bank in a few minutes."

Barclay's fortunately did not have many people waiting in queue for a teller, and so Harry and Snape easily strode up to one of the young ladies who had a smile on her face but looked bored out of her mind. Harry handed her the passbook for the Princes' account, asking for a full update. She flashed an open smile at him and set to the task, glancing up to look at Harry quite a few times during the process.

Snape, who had been looking around the bank for Krantz, stepped closer to Harry and kept an arm possessively wrapped around his waist. Harry, oblivious to the flirting of the teller, leaned into his touch. After a minute Snape stiffened and nodded very slightly toward the door, where Krantz and the familiar man entered. Harry accepted the book without checking much of the numbers, merely noting that the Prime Minister had already paid them for this weekend.

Snape coughed loudly, catching the attention of Krantz and a few others around him.

"Let's go, Henry."

Just as he predicted, as soon as they'd turned to walk towards the front doors of the bank, Krantz approached them.

"Simon and Henry!" Krantz jogged up and offered his hand out to shake. Harry took it reluctantly, while Snape just glared.

"How are you, Mr. Krantz?" Harry asked, politely.

"Good, thanks. Came back to England for a little personal visit." He smiled the same easy smile that he bared when he wanted something.

"Fascinating country, isn't it?" Snape asked, sounding slightly bored.

"Yes, yes it is." Krantz replied. Harry shifted and checked his watch.

"Simon, we need to catch Slug & Jiggers before it closes." Harry smiled a fake apology at Krantz, noticing that the man had stiffened at the mention of the apothecary.

"Yes, of course. Mr. Krantz, a pleasure." Snape took Harry's arm and they turned to leave. They were stopped by a business card being thrust towards them.

"My number, should you need to contact me. I'm making progress on that compound we spoke about over the summer. And I assume that any mail sent…the regular way will find itself to you, Mr. Prince?" Krantz was staring hard at Snape, as if trying to analyze his reaction.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Yes. It will. Good day."

Harry fought a smile as they headed out into the sunshine. Krantz had fallen directly where they wanted him, placed into the position of knowing that Simon and Henry Prince were wizards, and that they knew how to successfully brew complicated potions. The Prime Minister had agreed with Snape that it was a good idea to create the belief that they could be relied upon for help if his current supplier became indisposed. Snape had absolutely no desire to take Krantz down himself, but he didn't mind providing information. It was a fresh change from being tortured while spying for Dumbledore.

It was still early evening yet, and so when Harry suggested dinner at a Chinese restaurant downtown, Snape gave a thoughtful smile and allowed Harry to lead.

…

"You must be mad." Snape pointed his eyebrow and crossed his arms. The Monday staff meeting was almost over, and Snape had almost been cleared to return to the flat, where a movie was waiting for him. Harry sat across the table, playing idly with a quill, looking as if he wasn't paying much attention.

"Severus, I think it is a good idea." Minerva insisted, leveling a Look at him. "For all the students went through last year, it would do to have some form of entertainment here as a break for them."

"It's just a movie, and in the Muggle world it's popular to have drive-ins during the summer to watch the movie." Daniel McRua spoke up, offering an apologetic shrug. "We'll choose a comedy, to lighten up the mood for the students, and hopefully it will help with house unity if they all watch it together."

Flitwick, Sprout, and Vector looked as if they were rather curious as to this movie night. Snape looked right to Harry, daring him to make eye contact.

"Mr. Potter, as you actually died for the cause, why are you not being more vocal regarding this silly social experiment?"

Minerva sighed and rested her head in her hand.

"I'm indifferent, Snape. Though I should actually push for the movie night, seeing how you despise the idea so much."

"Well, we don't need to." McRua sounded unsure, but Flitwick waved him off.

"Ignore them. They have been carefully crafting and cultivating this stalemate over seven years."

"We are having a movie night." Minerva declared. "Friday night, on the quidditch pitch. Daniel, if you need help setting up the screen, Filius can aid you. As for the rest of the staff, we will need chaperones for the movie night. All four heads of houses please, and Severus and Harry. I'm sure that will do."

She looked at them with pursed lips and expression that said, "you will get along or else."

_We should probably tell her soon._ Harry thought through the ring, feeling guilty.

**Ah, I do agree. Perhaps we should buy her some catnip as a peace offering.**

Minerva cut the meeting a few minutes after stating that Daniel would be responsible for choosing the film, all the while wondering what she'd said that had caused Harry to start giggling at her.

…

Curses, jinxes, hexes, and random objects flew through the air, bouncing off the containment shield, tearing apart the book cases, smashing a window or two, and uprooting potted plants to fly about as if in a tornado. In the center of it all, Harry and Snape remained oblivious to the damage, intent on continuing their dueling dance. The students were well protected by the shield, and watched in amazement at the duel going on. The movements were natural between the professors, nimble light feet danced as they dodged each other's curses, spinning out of the way of the random hex, and a few times, giving the appearance of knowing the coming curse before it has been fired. It was truly a dance, one that if the students hadn't known any better, they would have sworn came from practice and intimacy.

The duel was interrupted by a rather large bang, the heavy classroom door flying against the wall and catching the attention of all in the room. After all, when Minerva McGonagall was annoyed, even the sounds a duel seemed like faint whispers in the wind.

"STUPEFY!" came the bellow, and as Harry was thrown against Snape he reconsidered his first thought upon seeing the headmistress. Not annoyed. Livid.

She raked her gaze over the students for mere seconds, ensuring they were safe, and then returned her glare to the two men sitting against each other in the midst of pure destruction. "WHAT in the holy hell have you done to destroy this classroom?"

Silence followed as they stared, and then Snape slowly shook his head. The students wondered why the Headmistress had demanded an answer after stupefying their professors, and one had even timidly spoken up.

"Professor, they were teaching us about duels."

More head shaking, and then Snape got to his feet, pulling Harry up with him and patting the latter on his back. Harry coughed out a black feather before standing taller. An exasperated glare followed. "Oh of course. I should have known the Boy-Who-Lived and the Man-Who-Refused-Death could break a bloody stupefy charm. " Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, and a few giggles were heard from the crowd. Harry had the decency to blush, whereas Snape merely shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly.

"I believe a few days ago I did request, in writing, an arena to practise in." Snape managed to keep his voice light sounding, as if destroying a classroom and shaking the entire north wing of Hogwarts to its foundings was a normal Tuesday afternoon occurrence. Harry laughed and coughed up another feather, which earned him another slap on the back from Snape.

"You," Minerva glared out, keeping her voice controlled and menacing at the same time, "are both too strong to duel in this building. If you are so desperate to burn off some energy and torture each other, Find. Another. Way."

She spun her heels and made towards the doors, addressing the class before leaving. "Do not encourage them like this again. Ever."

The door swung closed, and the class returned its gaze to the two professors. Harry was standing with most of his weight on his right leg, hair even more disheveled than normal, his robes torn a bit around the legs. He had a small gash on his cheek, but otherwise appeared fairly well, given the strength of the duel. Snape's robes were torn all about the sleeves, and there was a long gash across his right forearm, that would have been much more alarming to the students had they been able to see the blood on the black cloth. Facing each other, Harry and Snape took turns mumbling Latin and healing the cuts and bruises on their partner. They then faced the room and told the students to stand very still. Wands raised in identical fashion, a "Reparo!" echoed from both lips and the room gaily put itself back together.

….

"What do you suppose she means by burning off energy?" Harry was clinking the spoon against the tea mug as he stirred the sugar in.

The tea was served at their table, and as customary on Thursday mornings, Snape stayed at the table relaxing as he watched out the window. The cliff dropped down quite dramatically from their flat's windows, and he never tired of watching the hawks hunt as they flew around. Cinnamon wafted through the air, pulling at his nose, and he guessed at the source. French toast, maybe. He pondered the question and then turned to answer.

"I believe she thinks that without the mental distractions of having to out-spy and out-maneuver a demented egotistical maniac, we have become restless."

Harry paused to consider this, flicking his wrist and only half watching that the toast he had flipped out of the frying pan landed smartly back in place. Snape would have been annoyed, but he had long conceded Harry's natural cooking instincts.

"Well if she wants war, we can do that."

Snape smirked and sipped his tea. Moments later Harry had joined, and delicious slices of French toast had been placed in front of him, still steaming with heat. Harry poured maple syrup over his before digging in.

"A hobby, I'm certain, is more what she has in mind."

Snape had delicately cut his toast up and was enjoying the butter melting softly in his mouth, and he detected a slight variation of flavour from their normal toast. An eyebrow was raised at Harry, as he savoured the new taste.

"Bailey's. " Harry confirmed, sitting back and smiling, "just enough to give a sample. A hobby sounds like she's chastising us. I refuse to take up knitting, never mind how much Dumbledore loved it." He shook his fork at Snape with those last words, and Snape chuckled very softly.

There was a comfortable silence as they finished the food, and Snape sat back to enjoy the rest of his tea.

"What was the war that you were referring to? I would have thought you'd had enough of that by now."

Harry looked momentarily confused and then smiled. He pointed his wand and their finished dishes levitated to the sink.

"Ah." Harry grinned, and Snape quirked his eyebrow. That sort of grin usually meant trouble was brewing in his partner's mind.

"Need I remind you of the bodily harm she threatened after the dueling…"

Harry waved his hand casually.

"Have you ever had the urge to turn her hair purple?"

Snape blinked, unable to conceal the look of wonderment on his face.

"I can honestly answer that with a no."

"Pity." Came Harry's only reply.

…

In the evening after classes, Snape found himself retreating to the library as if on instinct. He'd spent a lot of time in this library in his youth, and was never surprised to find himself suddenly at the doors to the place, lost in thought and wondering what other secrets he'd be able to uncover within the books. But not today. He was restless. Damn that word, and damn Minerva for bringing it up. He should be happy now, there was no spying, no Dark Lord threatening their every breaths, and he was teaching in the castle he loved with the man he…well he didn't know how to classify his feelings for Potter. And Minerva had suggested he was bored.

He resisted the urge to seek her out and tell her exactly what she could do with her insinuations.

A small noise sounded behind his back and Snape realized that a small group of students was huddled in the cove nearest the restricted section. They were from his class, the joint Defense Against the Dark Arts that he taught with Harry. Slipping soundlessly beside the stacks that separated them, Snape found it almost too easy to listen in.

"You didn't see the destruction though, Mary." Snape recognized the voice at once. Jonathan Fletcher, a fourth year Ravenclaw. "If I hadn't known they were professors and just doing a demonstration, I would have sworn they were actually trying to kill each other." A murmur was heard, and Snape allowed himself a small smile.

"Books weren't just blasted from the shelves, they were torn to pieces. Two windows shattered, the ground was shaking beneath them, and I know I saw blood on Snape's arm. I think Potter had a cut on his face too." He sounded partially awed, and a new voice cut in.

"And did you hear what McGonagall said at the end? _If you are so desperate to burn off some energy and torture each other."_ The voice paused for effect and Severus went through the class list in his mind. Ah. Anna Caldwell, fourth year Gryffindor.

"_Torture each other_. You know, my sister is friends with Ginny Weasley, and she said that Snape and Potter hated each other from the moment they met. Apparently it was legendary, and Snape even hexed him once. But they work for that Order thingie, so maybe that's why they can't kill each other. Professor Dumbledore must have made it that Order member's can't."

Hexed? Snape pondered. He'd thrown a jar of potion ingredients at Harry's head before, after that disastrous occlumency lesson, but he couldn't remember truly hexing Harry, at least not without warning.

"Well, me cousin was in Professor Potter's dorm, and he says that at the end of the war things got messed up. We all know what the paper said, Potter saved him, and Seamus said that Snape had saved Potter a few times when he was younger. Maybe they made a truce." Niamh Finnegan was just as outspoken as her cousin Seamus.

Snape had had enough and coughed loudly. One, they were getting close to some sort of truth, and two, if rumours were going to spread around the castle he wanted to control what they were. The group of students jumped and Snape sneered with satisfaction. Fear instilled into students was a good thing.

"I can assure you," he said, with a cold and knowing voice, "that if I wanted to dispose of your favourite Professor Potter, I would not do so with a room full of student witnesses."

Three faces blanched.

"So..sorry Professor. "

Snape stalked off with his robes snapping behind him, an amused glint in his eyes carefully concealed.

…

Dinner at the great hall was normally a rowdy event, however the next day was Friday and the movie night, and as such the students appeared more excited and annoying than normal. The head table was full, and from his seat Snape could glare down upon all the tables. The seat beside him was empty, and he was pleased to see that a few students had noticed Harry's absence. Food appeared on their plates, and Snape ate carefully, his wand tucked just inside his sleeve for later use. Tonight they would finally let Minerva in on their little secret, but not before a small prank first, to remind her not to take heed of all of Dumbledore's foolish ideas.

Within minutes of starting there was a loud noise, and the wooden doors at the front of the hall swung open. Snape looked up and feigned indifference as Harry stalked in, walking determinedly down the middle of the room, seemingly oblivious to the reaction he caused. Silence had fallen over the tables as they watched Harry make his way to the staff table. He was wearing black pants, a black waistcoat, and a very dark blue set of robes. Snape looked carefully and noted that Harry was wearing one of his own white collared shirts. And he was glaring, lips pressed straight together, face darkened with what Snape would have thought was anger, had he not known better. It only took a few seconds for most to realize that there was a staring contest happening between Snape and Harry, and neither was it missed that Harry wrenched his chair back from beside Snape and sat down in irritation.

Snape pretended to eat nonchalantly, as if there were not over five hundred people staring at him and wondering just what on earth had happened to cause such a reaction from the normally calm Professor Potter. Beside them, Professors Sprout and Sinistra moved as far as they could from the danger.

"THAT." Harry hissed, loud enough for those at the front of the house tables to hear, "was entirely uncalled for."

Snape looked at him with disdain.

"Potter, if I had any inclination as to what you were referring, I would happily engage in this conversation. As I do not, let me eat my meal in peace."

Snape speared another potato, rather forcefully, and Harry heavily served food onto his plate. They had caught Minerva's attention, as well as the rest of the hall's, but pretended to be oblivious. Snape took advantage of the silence, and waited until Harry had looked up to glare at him before he sent a small thought about Minerva and catnip. A tiny twitch appeared on Harry's lips, and before the smile threatened to become noticeable, Snape spoke up.

"Fine. What did I supposedly do? Your glaring is yet another example of your appalling table manners and I refuse to eat in front of you. Or is the Gryffindor Golden Boy above such pleasantries of manners?"

Harry took his knife and shook it in the direction of Snape. Sprout coughed hesitantly, and Minerva cleared her throat.

"Listen, you miserable old bat. There is a broken potions vial in my kitchen, and for some _strange _reason, I cannot use magic in my room. And I happen to know that YOU have patented that particular potion, which by the way, you should make sure doesn't linger in the crevices of my bookshelf next time."

Laughter started from some of the students, but neither paid attention. They had hoped to be overheard, as an audience was much more amusing that just their intended target. The other professors were either openly staring, or pushing food around on their plates.

"Arrogant little Gryffindor brat…" Snape didn't get much further, as he noticed tingling feeling on his scalp. Harry had turned his hair red, with gold streaks. More laughter from the students, and from two professors this time. Minerva's lips were pressed very strongly together, and Snape knew the right time was approaching. He concentrated, and Harry's hair turned green with silver strands. The signal.

Harry pushed himself to the edge of the chair and brought himself close to Snape, reaching up but at the last moment deciding not to grab at Snape's robes.

"Greasy git of the dungeons, you prob…"

"Gentlemen!"

A goblet was slammed down on the table and they both turned to look at Minerva. It was silent enough in the hall to hear a sickle drop, and all attention was either on them or the headmistress. The exchange had taken less than five minutes, but the delivery was perfect. They both stared at Minerva and watched as she seemed to be having an inner battle.

"I believe that interruption of dinner is quite enough. You will apologise to the students, and leave the hall now. We will discuss this later." A gasp went up in the hall, and Snape thought they couldn't have timed it better. His shade of purple was darker than the one that Harry had thought of, so Minerva's hair was not just one block of purple, like the tip of a marker. Indeed, it was rather artistic. Growling, they both stood quickly and stormed out the same door, glaring at each other the whole way. Hagrid's poorly hidden laugh was the last thing they heard.

"Nice hair, Potter." It was accompanied by a trademark smirk, and Harry managed to make it to their flat's front hallway before bursting into laughter. He spun Snape against the wall and kissed him fiercely, their mouths moving together forcefully and hands snaking through and grabbing at hair. After only a few moments, Snape growled and pulled Harry back.

"The Wicked Witch of the West will be here soon. We need to look composed, and angry. Playing will have to wait." Harry pouted, but knew that Snape was right. It took all of four minutes for Harry to put wards on the guest room that did not allow magic within their walls and for Snape to glamour the pictures on display that had shown them completing various tasks from the lists over the summer. He had just finished spelling a chalk line down the living room floor, with their names on each side when Harry walked back in and jumped to his side.

"Nice, didn't even think of that idea." A nod was returned to Harry, and Harry sat back with a small glass of mead, accio'ing a book. Snape sat on his side of the room with the latest Potions Quarterly journal and his own glass of mead. He clenched tightly onto a pillow, and Harry decided that the mead would probably be safer sitting on the side table. They waited, but it only took a few moments before the fireplace chimed.

"Severus Snape! I am the Headmistress of this school and you will not ward the floo to prevent me from firecalling!"

Either Minerva needed to get out more, or Harry had underestimated the stress that came along with being Headmistress. She sounded rather frazzled. He supposed that it was a lot of work, but he couldn't help thinking that Snape had had a much rougher time during the previous tumultuous year.

"The wards merely warn me when I am about to be rudely interrupted. As you have already forced Potter upon me, I am keeping the small bit of privacy that I can afford."

Snape said this with a convincing glare, and Harry picked up his part right away.

"If you recall, I didn't choose to share my living spaces with a senile old moser, Snape."

If one could roll their eyes in the floo without drying them, Minerva would have done so right then and there.

"Both of you, honestly. I'm stepping through." A green flare and a whoosh, and Minerva stepped out of the flames. The first thing she noticed was the line, however she decided not to mention it. Harry quietly admired the purple hair.

"I want a truce. There are still four death eaters remaining, the children need strong role models, and you are both decorated war heroes, for Merlin's sake. I put you in the same quarters because Albus convinced me it would ensure that you got over your past animosities, and I figured the time to know each other would help. I guess I was wrong." There was defeat in her voice, but Snape wasn't falling for that.

"I haven't killed him yet. Something must be working."

For his trouble, Snape received two glares. One tired one, and one amused. Minerva sat in the wingback chair by the fire and Harry offered her a drink. He toed the line dividing the room, pushing the boundaries while he served the mead. While Minerva studied the photos on the side table, Snape gave him a small nod.

"Although, I do wonder how Dumbledore managed to convince you it would be a good idea to force two sworn enemies to live together." Harry asked, calmly.

"Did he offer you tea or lemon drops before giving you his little speech?" Snape added neutrally.

"Severus, he's a portrait." Minerva stood close to the fireplace.

"That he is, Minerva." Snape acknowledged, sipping more of his drink. He waved his wand and erased the line on the floor with his wand.

"You know," Harry added, picking up his drink and wandering across the room to the couch that Snape was sitting on, flopping himself down. "I trashed his office in fifth year. I was so annoyed with how he was treating me, as if I was his little puppet, only given information when he saw fit."

Minerva didn't move, but studied them closely.

"I have noticed that tendency of his." She admitted.

"As have we, of course. Enough to perhaps even manipulate those particular tendencies. I daresay, being head of Slytherin house for ten years taught me a thing or two." Snape had a light smirk on his face.

"Explain yourself." Minerva said, after a pause.

"It could very well be that young Mr. Potter and I learned to tolerate each other's presence over the past summer, and worked out our differences. Perhaps we even came to enjoy staying in the same residence over the summer, and wished to continue doing so here at Hogwarts. What better way to achieve that without causing an explosive reaction than by continuing to fight in front of yourself and Dumbledore?"

"I find that very hard to believe, Severus Snape." Minerva looked as if she could not decide whether to slap him or have him checked by a healer.

"Oh fine, Minerva. We're together. When you moved us down here we fought for ten minutes and fell madly in love. We're inseparable. It's love at, well, not first sight actually. It's all your doing, and we're just causing trouble now because we're _bored."_

Harry, whom had sputtered in his drink at first, started to laugh. Snape had kept such a monotonous tone for the entire confession that Harry had almost missed the sarcasm under his voice. But it was there, and he imagined that the Headmistress noticed it too. For her part, Minerva looked horrified at the thought.

"You two are together? I will believe that, Severus, when wizards start using cars for regular transport." She sputtered at first, but seemed to gain confidence at the end of the statement. This did not last long, as Harry draped his arm around the Potion Master's shoulders.

"Oh yes. Madly in love." Harry added. "Just can't get over how simply divine the man is."

They turned to face each other, and seconds later heard the floo whoosh as Minerva stomped out. Without missing a beat, Snape warded the floo closed with his wand, and Harry pounced, kissing strongly and tasting mead and mint in on his partner's lips.

"We should tell her the whole truth soon. She looks like she'll have conniptions any moment about us."

Harry was kissing softly along Snape's strong cheekbones, the words tickling on his neck while Harry spoke them. Snape groaned and let his hands wander, down Harry's broad shoulders and down to his hips, which he gripped strongly through Harry's jeans. His thumbs circled the front of Harry's pelvis, close to the straining erection that was pressed against the zipper, and Harry's moan vibrated on Snape's lips.

"That risks the entire staff finding out."

Harry sat back and thought for a moment. He absentmindedly flicked open the buttons on Snape's jacket, rocking his hips back and forth slightly. Harry may not have noticed at first, but the hands that stilled him over the hard penis below brought his attention back.

"Sorry." A slight grin played on Harry's face. "I'm just tired of this. There are four death eaters left. We won the bloody war. I like our privacy, but I don't want to pretend to hate you anymore."

The moon was becoming quite bright outside their windows, and Harry's glasses reflected the pale blue light from the window. His sad eyes were unobstructed though, and his partner had heard what he'd really said. Snape reached down, pulled the fly down on Harry's jeans, and reached through to firmly stroke Harry.

"Nnngh." Harry's eyes rolled back and he exposed his neck. Snape leaned up, planting soft kisses around the collarbones that he loved and whispered his reply.

"One step at a time." There was a groan, and Snape lifted Harry to carry him back to their bedroom.

…

It was past eleven and Minerva was pacing her office. Most of the wizards in the portraits were asleep, but one was remaining stubbornly so.

"Albus! Albus Dumbledore, wake up!"

A small twitch of an eyebrow was all Minerva needed to see to know he was awake. She wanted to judge his reaction when he wasn't at his full level of alertness, to see who had been telling the truth.

"Is this some sort of punishment? I'm beginning to think so. This is your cruel punishment, to stick me with the task of getting Severus Snape and Harry Potter to tolerate each other for more than an hour. Albus, they hate each other. I tried to convince Mr. Potter otherwise when he was a student, but I honestly do believe now that they hate each other."

She waited, and glared. Soon he would speak, because she knew he couldn't ignore her that long.

"I thought it was a good idea, at the time." There was that maddening twinkle.

"Ingenious, no doubt. Meanwhile, those two have argued constantly since term started, they make the children nervous, they almost destroyed the north wing during a duel, I suspect it was one of them who turned my hair purple, and there is a wager on between the students to see which one will off the other and how."

Other wizards were starting to listen in, and Dumbledore had the nerve to smile back at the headmistress.

"I thought they only destroyed a classroom. I shall have to check the damage now. However, with that impressive list, it seems they are getting along better than you suspect."

He had the nerve to sound amused, as well.

Minerva cradled her head with her hand.

"I don't think they meant that one to be so destructive. They were very focused in demonstrating dueling. They're just too strong to do it in the building. Why don't you to go visit their flat and see what they're like when no one is watching? The bickering is driving me mad."

Phineas coughed in his frame, and Dumbledore chucked.

"I'd love to Minerva, believe me. But I can't. There are no paintings in that flat. For two men who seemingly hate each other, their paranoia and privacy needs are quite similar."

He smiled, and she stalked out of the office. So it was true. Dumbledore legitimately believe that by placing Harry and Snape in the same living quarters, they would be forced to get along. It was no wonder they were acting as hateful as they had been before. She could only imagine how smug or meddlesome Dumbledore's portrait would be when he heard that they were in fact, getting along _much_ better than anyone had ever predicted.

….

Six thirty am brought Minerva to the bottom of the spiral stairs leading to the unused storage area of Hogwarts, under the Great Hall. She'd never understood why either Snape or Harry had wanted the quarters there, after all, she'd given them a small choice in the matter. It'd taken an exhausting week to carve out, but once she'd been in the place for the first time, she saw how gorgeous it was. This side of the cliff was not calm and tranquil, there were rocks and sharp indentations surrounding their windows, and the water ranged from demonically possessed to mildly irritated on its calmest days. It was quiet, it faced the south, and it was perfect for them.

And it was warded like Gringotts.

The Headmistress should have been able to enter any room in the castle, but Minerva knew better than to assume that. Not when Severus Snape lived there. And technically, she would be able to, but she wanted to be undetected. Even as her animagus form, Minerva couldn't get past the first three wards. She knew the door would respond if she knocked, but she'd never learn anything that way. They couldn't know she was observing, and only by seeing them at home without their knowledge could she confirm what Snape had said the night before.

Six thirty am brought Harry to the kitchen, as it usually did on Friday mornings. The weekends were for sleeping a bit longer, but in all honesty, Harry was a morning person. It was peaceful, quiet, and when he was a child, it was the time before the Dursleys woke. Hard habits were there to stay, it seemed. As he tidied up the popcorn bowl and root beer bottles from the night before, he noticed Snape standing in front of the hallway entrance, watching their framed photo of Hogwarts. They didn't have paintings in their flat, but photographs were fine, as no one new could enter them or jump between the frames. This particular photo contained an edited version of the Marauder's Map, and through that Snape was watching someone close to their door.

"Minerva is pacing outside the door."

Harry looked up with little surprise. He was disheveled in the morning, and it was a look that Snape loved. Green and black flannel pyjama pants, grey Gryffindor gym shirt, thick wooly socks, and hair that seemed even worse in the defying gravity department. The socks were required due to the stone floors, as Harry had never gotten into the habit of wearing either slippers or robe. Snape had started wearing flannel pants and shorter shirts to bed as well, as his nightshirt seemed a bit outdated compared to Harry's wear. He'd never admit that though, and steadfastly hung onto his slippers and robe.

Snape walked into the kitchen and ruffled Harry's hair, leaning in for a quick kiss.

"Breakfast in ten." Harry replied with a smile, pointing at the porridge cooking on the stove with his spoon.

Snape put the teapot and three mugs on the kitchen table before nodding at Harry and replying: "I'll let the cat in."

The cat, as it turned out, was successfully dismantling another ward when Snape opened the door.

"Breakfast is almost ready. Human food only." He spun on his heels and walked back in, leaving the door slightly ajar. Muttering a quick "mischief managed" at the photo, Snape went to the table to take his place. Harry was spooning porridge into the bowls and making his way to the table when Minerva walked in, fully dressed and staring openly.

Various berries were in small bowls on the table already, and there was a spot set out for her. She watched, eyes darting between them, as Snape poured tea for himself and Harry, and then was passed a full bowl with fruit piled on top. They had begun eating early breakfast in their flat instead of the great hall, due to the early time and high fat content in the hall foods.

"Did you not hear a word of what we said last night? Come and eat and we'll answer most questions." Snape didn't look up, but there was a small smile on his lips. He unfolded the Daily Prophet, and sat back against his chair, sipping from the steaming cup of tea. Harry rose to get the forgotten brown sugar from the counter, and squeezed Snape's shoulder in passing.

Minerva could only blink as she passed. Harry still very much in his pajamas, Snape with only an open robe covering his pajamas, and they were getting along. Not just getting along, they were in a routine that looked well established. She let her gaze wander around the room as she sat back, taking in the room. It was very different from the place she had visited last night. It was warm, and she noted little knickknacks on the shelves. The small singular photos that were in the frames on the table contained two people, instead of one. There was music playing softly from somewhere, and she did a double take watching Harry lean over to point out a crossword clue to Snape.

"You're really serious." It wasn't a question; it was a statement, though Harry answered when he offered milk or lemon for her tea.

"Of course. You can test us with veritaserum if you don't believe it, but there you are. Professor Harry Potter and Professor Severus Snape."

Harry sat back and Minerva finally broke out a small hint of a smile when Snape squeezed Harry's hand.

"I really should hex you both right now, you do know that." She relaxed further, taking a sip of the nice hot tea. "And yes. I would like the veritaserum. You're both spies and one is a master occlumens."

Harry laughed and went over to one of the desks in the corner of their living room. Just before dropping the drops on his tongue, he glared in a very Snape-like manner towards her direction. "Do not ask what you are not prepared to know the answer to." A little wink was all it took to assert the meaning.

….

The Great Quidditch Drive-In, as movie night had been unofficially christened, was due to start at eight thirty. It needed to be dusk enough, and the students had been told to be well prepared for the outdoor night chill.

Snape folded one of the thick blankets they had and placed it in a small back, stopping to grab a handful of granola bars and chocolates.

"I'll meet you out there?" He asked, eyeing Harry's outfit.

"I'll be warm enough. And yes."

Snape took a moment to think. "Alright. What movie is it, anyway?"

"One that came out last year and is just on video now. Some British spy that saves the world."

"You are not getting a Bond car." Snape said, literally putting his foot down. The boot's sole caused a crack that echoed through the room.

"I know. But this one is about Austin something. Austin Powers, I think." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Hmm. I don't believe I've heard of it. Nonetheless, we are required to attend." Snape shrugged and left first, headed towards the pitch and the base of the Slytherin stands, where he would wait for Harry.


	11. Ch 11 Unwelcomed by Death

AN: Cheers to everyone who left me lovely and detailed notes, it makes me happy. The chapters will be updated every 2 to 3 days now, I have a relative in the hospital and not a lot of time. Krantz, Fudge, and Dumbledore will be back next chapter, don't worry. :) Tonks is cool - Ikea has been around for quite a while in other European countries, and I would be surprised if Hermione wasn't willing to travel around, since she now could without needing to hide. :)

Ch 11 - Unwelcomed by Death

**Marco.**

_What? Polo._

**Marco.**

_Snape, where the hell are you hiding?_

Harry walked around the field and ignored two fifth years snogging on a blanket.

**Marco.**

_No. I am not playing that ridiculous game with you. That's not even how it's played, anyway._

**Playing a muggle game is on my list, Potter. Humour me.**

_You're a prat, you know that? You're not by the bleachers, have you gone back towards the judge's stand? And it's the hunter who is supposed to call marco._

Snape smirked as he watched Harry zig zag towards him.

**Polo.**

An irritated huff was exhaled next to him as Harry slumped down. Snape had set up a notice me not spell around the blanket he'd put on the ground, and Harry had only noticed it seconds before tripping over Snape's unseen feet.

"Captured, Professor Snape."

Snape smirked again and then dug through the bag looking for something. Before he could ask, Harry reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a cold root beer, handing it over to Snape.

"Ah, my own personal cooler."

Harry grinned, and they watched as a man with a ridiculous outfit danced across the screen in muggle London.

"Can anyone see us?" He asked, toeing off his shoes.

"Of course not." Snape responded, looking insulted that Harry would think he'd overlook that one detail. "We can see them, however." And almost to prove his point, Snape flicked his wand towards a pair of students eagerly becoming friendly, a piece of parchment suddenly popping out of the air above them.

"Detention with Filch." Snape said, in a nasty tone.

They sat in silence for another ten minutes, watching with disbelief not only what was happening on the screen, but also the students who were laughing at it. Perhaps McRua and McGonagall had been correct in thinking that the students had needed something simple to welcome them back to school.

Just a little past nine pm the temperature dropped noticeably, as evening had fallen officially. Harry shivered slightly and then stood to stretch, before looking pointedly at Snape.

"Admiring my stunning looks?" Snape asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Yes. Yes I am." Harry replied pointedly, before sitting down in front of Snape and leaning against the man's knees. He sat like that for a minute, shifting himself around slightly to avoid the sharp bones.

"Do I look like a chair, Potter?" Snape finally sighed, leaning back against the wooden enclosure behind him.

"No, and you certainly aren't as comfy as one." Harry complained as Snape sat himself up and spread his legs a little, allowing Harry to scoot back and sit against him.

Snape wrapped the blanket more snugly around them to keep out the chilly air. "Remind me why I put up with you."

"Because I cook for you and I don't poison your food." Harry replied nonchalantly, staring at the screen.

"Mmm." Snape agreed, turning his head to watch the movie again. "Good enough."

Halfway through the movie Snape noticed that Harry's attention was elsewhere. He waited for a few moments as Harry tensed, obviously thinking of something, and then started to fidget slightly.

"Spit it out Potter."

Harry froze and then relaxed five seconds later. He sat up, turned to Snape and gave a goofy smile.

"Nah, that's alright. Let's make fun of this stupid movie instead." Harry plucked a fuzz ball off the blanket.

Snape put his hand on Harry's forehead, leaning Harry back against his chest.

"Listen you little murtlap. Somehow you've gotten under my skin, in a way almost entirely unlike the cruciatus curse. I agreed to this silly mission with you, so you'd better let me know what is next on your list."

"You'll think it's stupid." Harry pouted after a minute.

"Undoubtedly." Snape agreed, rearranging the blanket around them. "But that's never stopped you before from doing anything. Are you going to inform me this century, or do you wish to wait until my arse is completely numb?"

"Fine. Next weekend is a family party at the Weasley's. I want you to come with me."

Snape put one hand under Harry's chin, turning the younger man to stare right at him.

"Me going to a gathering at the Weasley's is on your list?" Snape asked, more than a bit baffled.

"No, it's not like that. You know how in Muggle movies and on TV they always make a big deal out…you know, this is really stupid." Harry crossed his arms in annoyance. "I want you to meet my parents."

"Believe me, we've met." Snape responded dryly.

"I meant Molly and Arthur, you daft git. They're my adopted family."

Even in the dark Snape could see Harry's blush.

"You don't have to go, if you don't want. I know we said we'd do the list thing together, but I can just erase this from my list." Harry continued, babbling.

"I'm thinking." Snape replied after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Don't hurt yourself." Harry muttered under his breath, wincing as Snape smacked his leg.

"Look, you can even go as Simon Prince if you want. It's just…something on my list." Snape heard the unspoken 'important.'

"You were willing to introduce me undisguised?"

"Well yeah, I don't plan to pretend for the rest of my life."

Snape shifted a little and they sat in silence for the last fifteen minutes of the film. The credits started to roll and Snape pushed Harry forward, knowing they'd have to make themselves seen. He pushed Harry to his feet and stared quizzically as Harry limped a bit.

"How in Merlin's name did you injure yourself while watching a movie?" Snape stretched as he spoke, repacking their snacks in his bag.

"Foot's asleep." Harry winced, pulling his cloak tighter around himself.

"Really." Snape's tone was entirely too innocent sounding for Harry's liking.

Snape cancelled the privacy spell around them and stepped forward, hitting Harry's foot with his own in a slight kick, slight nudge. He smirked when Harry howled, completely ignoring the students around them who had stopped to stare.

"What is wrong with you?" Harry hissed, wincing at the needles jabbing his foot.

"Something wrong, Mr. Potter?" Minerva asked, appearing beside them and looking a mixture of amused and admonishing.

"Oh I'm fine." Harry replied, glaring at Snape. "Just discovered a cousin of the cruciatus."

Snape apologized two hours later, after Harry had taken a hot shower, changed into warm pyjamas, and buried himself under the covers of their bed. This time it was Snape curled around Harry, his hand splayed strongly against Harry's chest as he held him close. He whispered the words on his breath, tickling just under Harry's hairline.

He knew that Harry had fallen asleep twenty minutes earlier.

…..

The class drudged in on Monday afternoon, looking tired and rather damp. All morning the rain had been pounding on the flagstones of the castle courtyards, pausing only for spurts to let the sun peek from the dark rainclouds. Harry knew that this class had been out for Care of Magical Creatures before his own, which, if he guessed correctly, had probably been a rather enthusiastic romp through the mud to find some sort of interesting creature.

Harry watched as the students slumped down towards their desks, some pulling their books out, and some just staring out the window, watching the lightning flash. He quickly scribbled something down on a piece of paper, banishing it with his wand towards the Hogwarts kitchens.

"Today we will learn an important lesson that cannot be catalogued in a book." Harry started, catching the attention of the class. The door had closed and Harry had lit extra candles to bring more warmth into the room. "But first, as many of you have guessed, the lesson of chocolate being a mood lifter and having medicinal components."

A huge tray of hot chocolate popped out of thin air onto the desk at the front of the classroom, of which Harry whisked a mug out to each student with his wand. "Take note, if you should ever find yourself around a dementor, be sure to eat chocolate afterwards. One of the best cures around, instantly makes you feel warmer and happier."

Harry could see the students visibly relax as they pulled their books out, inkbottles were clunked onto the desks, and quills were set poised. He'd have to thank Kreacher later for the hot chocolate.

"Huh, glad Snape's not here today, could you imagine him giving us hot chocolate? It'd probably be poisoned!"

It was whispered rather loudly as Harry had turned to the chalkboard, and he did hear it.

"_Professor_ Snape, Mr. Donovan. If you are so worried about being poisoned, you should perhaps ask Professor Snape how to brew antidotes for common poisons that can be slipped into drinks." Harry was then smiling with his back to the class as he wrote on the board. Writing out his notes for the class left him more time to organize them in his mind.

"Sorry, Professor." Donovan apologized, but did not sound overly bothered by being caught. "Professor Snape hates you though, doesn't he? Aren't you worried that someday he'll poison whatever you're drinking?"

Harry bit his lip before turning around, to stop himself from laughing. He remembered Snape's elegant hands making tea for them this morning, as Harry had stumbled around getting ready to teach. A warm mug had been placed in his hands, a slight drop of milk and half a lump of sugar stirred precisely into it. It had only taken Snape two days to memorize how Harry took his tea.

"No, I'm not worried." Harry answered, now looking calm and amused. It confused the class, as they'd heard of the famous rivalry. "I was taught almost a year ago by a very wise man to always carry a bezoar with me. For those of you who were not paying attention during your first ever lesson of potions, that is a stone that will protect you against most poisons once you swallow it."

"That's a bit paranoid, isn't it?" This time the question came from a Ravenclaw named Michaels.

"Maybe, Miss Michaels. But we can talk about that another time. Today we will discuss why we are our own worst enemy."

"But sir, who was it who told you to carry a bezoar at all times?" The hand was timidly raised.

"Professor Snape." Harry smiled, before he returned to the board and wrote in big letters.

_"Humans have a knack for choosing precisely the things that are worst for them."_

"This was said to me many years ago by the late Headmaster Dumbledore. That is the focus for this lesson. I don't expect all of you to be able right away to identify your own weaknesses and be able to safeguard against them, but if you can recognize potential hazards, it will be a good start."

Snape arrived fifteen minutes after the class had started, remaining where he'd slipped in near the back of the room and observing the discussion. Harry had brought up the idea of super heroes, and was asking the class what super power they would like to have, ignoring the fact that they were wizards. Snape inwardly approved of this lesson plan, as now that the Dark Lord was gone, the students ran into danger of being too complacent.

Now they were on the subject of immortality, and Snape listened carefully. This was one of the things the Dark Lord strived so hard to achieve.

"Immortality is in a level all it's own, I think." Harry stated, looking pensive. "It's not a weakness your enemy has to exploit. If you manage to make yourself immortal, I think you'll just destroy yourself in the end, mentally. As you won't be able to do it physically."

Snape quirked his eyebrow at the confusing explanation. A Slytherin asked for clarification.

"Well, what do you think immortality is?" Harry asked in kind, hoisting himself up so he was sitting on his desk.

"Living forever!" The Slytherin responded with wonder. "No one will ever be able to kill you, you'll never get older, you'll be able to travel everywhere and see everything, because you won't have a time limit. And you can have as many kids as you want."

"All good points, Mr. Bokken. Immortality can't be passed through the generations though, so it's only you in your family that would live forever, right?"

"Er, right. I think." Bokken replied. "But how would that destroy you?"

"It wouldn't." Harry said, swinging one leg slowly. "You can't be destroyed. You'll never get older, even though your friends and your family members will age and grow weaker. You'll still look youthful and innocent, while your lover passes away at an old age, looking fragile and well traveled. The world will change around you, evolving and growing, while you stay the same. Eventually, maybe in one hundred years, the last of the grandchildren of your friends will die, and you will realize that soon there will be no one left that knows you. No one left that remembers the world you grew up in, the trials you faced, the people you lost. And you'll look back, and realize that it's been more than a century since you've seen someone who loved you, and that this will never end."

Harry would have kept talking, had it not been for Snape's wand being pointed at him and a silencio cast.

"You're scaring the children, Potter." A few students jumped around him, not knowing he had been there. Snape walked up to the front of the class, calling Kreacher back to the room for a refill on the hot chocolate. When he reached the front, he was not surprised to find Harry looking lost in his thoughts, instead of angry that he'd been silenced.

Snape turned to the students, who for once had absolutely nothing to say. Harry's words had hit like a bludger.

"We're not scared!" A Ravenclaw protested after a minute.

"Oh, indeed? Good to hear. I expect a two-foot essay on your biggest weakness due next week in class. Now drink the hot chocolate, before Madame Pomfrey discovers the state you're all in and comes after Mr. Potter. You may then you may return to your dormitories."

Snape pushed Harry off the desk and towards the office at the side of the room.

"Mr. Donovan, I have not poisoned the hot chocolate." He closed the door and cast a silencing spell on the room, as well as covering the portraits. Snape took hold of Harry's shoulders and stared at him, waiting for Harry to shake out of his trance. The silencio on his throat had been cancelled, but Harry didn't say anything.

"Potter."

Harry snapped his head and offered a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I guess I just got carried away there."

Snape studied him curiously, though he did not attempt to look through Harry's mind. There was silence in the room for a few minutes, though Harry wasn't bothered much by it. He had become accustomed to Snape staring at him as if he were a strange potion ingredient.

"You are teaching the next class about boggarts?" Snape finally asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah. I'll be fine." Harry reassured, summoning a book from his shelf for the next class. He passed by Snape on his way back out to the classroom, lingering for a minute to trace his finger softly down the side of Snape's face. "If not, I have my ring."

The next class was a mixture of Hufflepuff and Slytherin third years, who looked ominously at the shaking chest that Harry had placed on the floor near the front of the classroom. Harry gave his opening speech about boggarts, asking questions from the students to see how much they already knew about the annoying little house pests. He was slightly surprised to feel a sudden rush of sadness during the lesson, as he remembered Remus teaching their class all those years ago. Harry turned to face the defense room's office door, and felt disappointment not to see Moony's easy smile waiting for him.

"Professor Potter, what does your boggart look like?" The question startled Harry out of his thoughts.

"It used to be a dementor, actually. It's probably something else now." Harry replied, his voice somewhat distracted as he thought of what other fears the last year had unearthed.

"What's Professor Snape's?" A boy to the right of him asked.

"I have no idea, to be honest." Harry pondered for a minute about asking Snape to do the lesson, so that way he'd be able to see it, but then the remembered the horrors he'd seen at the few Death Eater meetings he'd had visions of. "Mr. Modikan, do you remember reading about Professor Snape being a spy amongst the Death Eaters?"

"Yeah," the boy nodded, others in the class listening very closely.

"If he could do that for twenty years and not be afraid, do you really want to see what he fears most?"

Unease came over the faces of the students. "No sir." Modikan gulped.

Harry sat back against the desk and chuckled as he saw a parade of vampires, spiders, one Snape, a spectacular thunderstorm, three Death Eaters, and one Voldemort appear in the room. He had hoped that the students would be too young to have seen Voldemort, but one shy son of a murdered Death Eater had apparently seen him. Once Harry recognized the striking red eyes that appeared, he dashed in front of the boggart, not entirely sure if his own fear would be any better.

Harry was pleasantly surprised, and the class momentarily baffled, to see the boggart turn into a benign bedroom. Harry stared and saw that the bedroom looking familiar, and then realized it was from Cairn Hollow, and covered in a fine layer of dust. He then saw himself sit down on the bed, with his head in his hands.

"Riddikulus!" Harry yelled, suddenly realizing what he was seeing. The boggart crackled under the power of Harry's spell, and the class cheered a bit before starting to pack their things. Harry stood silently at the front of the classroom and watched them all leave, noting that none of them dared ask about the bedroom they saw.

…

In another classroom three floors away, Snape sat in a smaller room, flipping through a book at his desk, pretending not to notice as his class wandered in. It was an all house mixed class due to the small size, and he'd been surprised to discover the amount of pureblood raised students whom had signed up for it, given they were usually tutored privately in all subjects as children.

"Can anyone tell me what is wrong with eating children?" Snape suddenly asked, startling the students back to their seats. They stared at him in disbelief, though some managed to look disgusted as well.

"I trust you did your assigned readings for class, on Jonathan Swift?" Snape asked icily, standing up to walk between the rows. A few nods were giving in return.

"So indeed, we have a very well written proposal for the solution to famine in Ireland, and it involves eating children. From your silence shall I surmise than none of you found fault in his arguments?" Snape stood at the back of the class as he asked this, a place he preferred to stand because it made the students uneasy. A hand raised and he gave permission.

"But sir, it proposes eating children. He can't suggest that, can he?"

Snape shrugged a little and leaned back against the wall.

"Swift was a wizard, I have little doubt he could find a few uses for the little demons."

"Do children really taste good enough to be eaten?" A fifth year was brave enough to ask.

"I will not comment on the insinuation you just made by asking me if they taste good." Snape glared. "I have very little taste for human flesh, to be honest. Using logic, however, I would hypothesize it to taste similar to other game meat, such as deer. My question is, however, why is this short work so brilliant that I demanded you read it?"

Snape could almost hear the gears grinding in their heads. He resisted the urge to taunt, though was close to it after a minute of silence. Finally one of the sixth years raised her hands and offered the answer he was looking for. It was well written, well-researched, provoked and incensed reaction from most of its readers, and was masterful piece of satire. After Snape had given the definition of satire to the class, he gravely warned them that if they could not learn to identify sarcasm and satire easily, that they would be having a very difficult year with him indeed.

Snape then took five points from Gryffindor for the girl who had the nerve to mutter that it must be his favourite bedtime story.

…..

Ever since he had become a spy, Snape had always prided himself of on being a light sleeper. He would easily jump to attention at a loud noise, and be instantly awake if his subconscious sensed danger. He'd also managed to set a breakneck speed from horizontal and asleep to dressed and apparating out the door when the Dark Mark called him; arriving late once had given him all the motivation needed to accomplish that. However, now that the Dark Lord was gone, Snape took full advantage of the peace and slept like a bear in hibernation. Those were the normal nights, and though he registered Potter's movements in the bed, they rarely woke him. On rare other nights, he felt himself jolting out of bed at the sound of Potter's whimpering or groaning, or as in the case of this night, the feeling of Potter's fist slamming hard into Snape's forearm.

"Potter!" Snape grunted, pulling the struggling man close to him and catching the flailing arms. Harry was twisting and turning, having a nightmare, and muttering to himself. Snape didn't understand the muttering, but after fighting to keep Harry in his hold for almost five minutes, Snape knew this nightmare was not one of Harry's regular ones. Usually by then the terror had played itself out. Snape was becoming rather flustered this time however, because nothing he was doing seemed to be working to wake Harry up. Finally hitting upon a possible solution, Snape swiped his ring with his thumb, and focused on his thoughts.

**Potter, stop kicking me and wake up.**

_DON'T LEAVE._ The thought was so loud that Snape winced outwardly.

**I haven't. You need to wake up now.**

_Can't. You'll leave. I saw it._

**You saw me leave? Are you some sort of seer, Potter? I may have to disown you if you're related to Trelawney.**

Snape felt Harry's dark mood brighten a little.

_The boggart showed me. Your room at Cairn Hollow, empty._

**Ah. **

Harry felt arms, arms around him holding him tight.

**I don't plan leave that cottage, who would stop you from stupidly burning it down? I can only cast aguamenti so far.**

Harry opened his eyes and his breathing calmed when he recognized the bedroom, the warm bed, and Snape's arms wrapped around him.

"Not that leave. You died, and left me behind. Just like everyone else."

Snape stilled behind him. "You saw your new boggart today." He noted, one hand drawing circles around Harry's chest.

"Yeah." Harry whispered, closing his eyes against the touch.

…

Harry dug around in his bag on the early Saturday morning, looking for the extra bottle of polyjuice potion he'd put in there the day before. Neither of them had planned to stray from the Burrow, but after living with Snape for almost five months, he'd learned to Be Prepared. Indeed, if Snape had to tell him one more time, Harry figured it would show up carved into his skin just under the I must not tell lies scar.

The door to their bedroom opened and Harry spun around to see who would be standing there, Snape or Simon. He was a little disappointed to see that it was Simon, though he appreciated the form fitting muggle clothes that were unhidden by large robes. He had offered that option to Snape though, so Harry kept his face pleasant, and admired the shorter hair that Snape had gone for. He offered his arm and held out the portkey for them to take.

Grabbing Harry's bag, Snape stood beside Harry and lightly touched the old Wellington boot, sending them skittering in a flash to The Burrow.

"Hi Mrs. Weasley." Harry stuttered, blushing as he stood up and straightened his clothes. Snape stood beside him silently, staring around the living room as if he'd never seen it before. After a moment he turned back to the Weasley parents and gave a small smile.

"Harry dear, it's nice to have you back for the party. And who is this fine gentleman?"

Her smile was warm and not at all judgmental, which made Harry feel much calmer. Arthur was inspecting Snape's muggle clothes, and wondering if the man was a Muggle born that he could converse with.

"This is Simon, my.. ah." Harry blushed again.

"I am the reason he has become so busy, as of late." Snape said, offering his hand out to shake.

"It's a pleasure dear." Molly replied, shaking with Snape.

She looked decidedly unshocked that Harry had brought home a man to meet her, but Snape rationalized that with seven natural children, Molly Weasley was a hard woman to surprise. He knew that things between the youngest Weasley and Harry had been rather rocky, so it was a small relief that the matriarch did not show outward signs of annoyance at Snape for ensnaring Harry.

"Harry is like our seventh son, and of course we are very glad to meet you. If you'd like to go outside for a while, the guest of honour is out with the others." She smiled and nodded at them, before disappearing into the kitchen. Harry dragged Snape out to the door before Arthur could start questioning him. Neither noticed Molly watching carefully from the kitchen window.

Harry and Snape trudged their way over to the picnic table that had been set up on the lawn, groaning under the weight of so much food. They listened in on the conversation, neither really adding much, as George talked about his plans for the business and how helpful the muggle psychiatrist he'd gone to see had been. George had reasoned that wizard healers would be very busy dealing with the aftermath of the war, and preferred to go to someone brand new. He'd lied about the circumstances, telling the doctor that Fred had died on a peacekeeping mission with him in Africa, but even Snape could tell how much more at ease George seemed now. Acceptance was probably still far off, but George's eyes looked alive again.

After fifteen minutes Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Snape all excused themselves to go for a walk in the orchards, with Harry taking hold of Snape's hand. He told Snape it was for show, and didn't feel guilty at all for the lie.

Once out of earshot of any party guests, Ron turned on them and demanded an explanation. The first minute he'd seen Snape, disguised at Simon, he'd sent Harry an angry look that had taken Harry quite a bit of time to figure out the reason behind. He'd been surprised that Ron was so willing to stick up for Snape if Harry had come with a different person. After watching Simon carefully though, Ron soon had figured out that it was Snape in disguise.

"Mr. Weasley, it should not be that difficult to guess why I am in disguise. It has not been that long since your mother has wanted to torture and murder me. I do not need her thinking I'm corrupting her adopted son."

Hermione giggled, but Ron just rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on. Ginny is dating both Neville and Luna in some sort of weird threesome grouping. Tell her before she finds out about that, and you'll be fine.

Harry looked dumbstruck, but Snape was able to speak first. "Pardon?"

"Ginny, Neville, and Luna are all dating each other." Hermione explained patiently. "No, I don't really understand how it works either, before you ask."

"I could live the rest of my life without finding out, thank you." Snape responded with a quirked eyebrow.

…..

Snape sat at the kitchen table with the Weasleys, looking slightly tense as he sat beside Harry. He did not speak much, out of apprehension of giving himself away. For example, snapping at Weasley G to lose points if he continued tossing his prosthetic ear in the air as if it were a ball. Snape felt himself consciously relax when Harry patted his thigh very subtly.

"So Simon, where is it that you work? Harry has been very quiet about you." Mrs. Weasley was serving herbed potato wedges around the table.

"I am a free-lance potion brewer." Snape replied quietly, thinking up a quick background story to tell if they asked further questions.

"Well no wonder you've taken interest in Harry here. You could take over research at his company." Arthur smiled freely and reached for a bun. Snape's ears perked up.

"Yeah then you wouldn't need to ask prickly old Snape for help, Harry!" George proclaimed, laughing.

Molly watched with concern and then amusement as Ron seemed to choke on something and then have Simon thump him on the back rather hard.

"I don't need help with it." Harry stammered, glaring at George.

"Nonsense, it's always good to have an extra pair of hands." Mrs. Weasley confirmed, sitting down and starting her own meal. "And just think of all the people you'd help if you perfected that cruciatus cure."

Harry felt his neck go red and he suddenly understood why this type of meeting was usually one of the funny and embarrassing scenes in a movie.

Snape's eyes had clouded over at the implications. The Longbottoms had been waiting a long time, if Harry could ever succeed at what his company seemed to be attempting.

Lunch finished with rather plain conversation, and when Harry and Snape stood to leave, Snape felt himself assured that he was welcome at the house any time, and was invited to Sunday dinner the next week. Harry rolled his eyes at this, but got a finger shaken at him from Mrs. Weasley for his trouble.

They waited for Hermione and Ron to use the Floo to get back to Grimmauld place, before waving goodbye and spinning themselves back towards Hogsmeade.

Sitting back into the kitchen, Molly set the dishes to clean themselves and sat back on her favourite chair.

"That man is under a glamour, Arthur." She proclaimed, watching for her husband's reaction.

"Is he now? He does sound much older than he looks, though I never thought I'd see Harry with an older man."

"I agree. I don't think Simon Prince exists, however, I do believe I know exactly who that man is."

"Do you? Is it something to be concerned over?" Arthur was unfolding the London Times that had just been delivered.

"No no, dear. We'll just wait for Harry to introduce us again, properly."

…

After a short hike back up to the castle from Hogsmeade, Harry waited mere seconds after arriving in the safety of their flat before he pinned Snape to the wall and gave him a strong and sensual kiss. His tongue begged entrance to Snape's mouth, taking the time once it entered to softly explore and flick gently against the tip of Snape's tongue.

"Thank you." Harry whispered when he stopped to take a breath.

"For what?" Snape looked flustered and Harry enjoyed the feeling of Snape's hard body against him.

"For coming with me today. For not leaving." Harry groaned as Snape's teeth sunk gently into his shoulder, spreading tingles like wildfire along his skin.

"I shall remember to do that more often, then." Snape murmured in reply, rubbing his thigh slowly against Harry's. He was not surprised to find himself being led into the bedroom minutes later, though the words that came out of Harry's mouth caught him off guard.

"I want you inside of me tonight."

Snape groaned in an entirely embarrassing manner, feeling suddenly very warm and like his pants had been shrunk.

"Potter, I thought you were saving that." Snape noted, pushing Harry to the bed and renewing his attentions on Harry's neck.

"I was." Harry gasped, arching up under Snape's body. "It's time."


	12. Ch 12 Exposed Slytherin

AN: Thanks for the lovely reviews! The action will be starting to pick up from here, don't worry. There's a bit of sex in this chapter, but it won't be the main focus of my story because I don't believe that sex is the only thing these two would be doing when they weren't teaching. Sorry, not realistic for me. :P

I don't know how well Molly Weasley comes off in this chapter, but hopefully not too one sided. Enjoy!

Ch 12 - Exposed Slytherin

Snape led Harry awkwardly back to their bedroom, distracted by Harry's hands roaming all over his back and over his arse. The door closed behind them and Snape held up his hand stilling Harry from his oral attack on Snape's neck.

"Potter, are you sure you want this?" Snape's tone was not filled quite with concern, but there was mixtures of trust and something else in it.

Harry held one finger up and traced it down Snape's cheek, drawing it very softly over Snape's lips. He shuddered when Snape slowly licked his lips to moisten them, teasing the tip of Harry's finger as well.

"I want it." Harry said, his eyes never leaving Snape's.

Snape nodded and moved his hand up to cup Harry's chin, pulling the shorter man against him and kissing him soundly. His tongue flicked playfully along Harry's lips, and after a mere second or two he was granted access.

Harry's hands had drawn themselves down the small of Snape's back, caressing the taut lines of Snape's arse through the light robe that Snape was wearing. Harry already knew how well the black jeans curved to Snape's lean form, and he couldn't help grabbing and pulling Snape flush to him, delighting when their groins rubbed together.

Harry found himself being disrobed slowly, calloused but thin fingers tracing all over his body, lips following closely behind, sucking, teasing, nipping at his skin. The mouth that for six years had only brought him anger, humiliation, and disappointment was now torturing him with a whole new set of feelings.

There was softness beneath him as Harry found himself pushed onto the bed, and he lost track of time between losing his clothes, Snape asking him if he was still a virgin, and when he was pulled up to his knees on the bed. Harry knew it must have been at least a good fifteen minutes, as he'd never felt so cared for and frustrated at the same time by Snape's slow preparations. It was so uncharacteristic, Harry thought, to be receiving such tender touches, but then not so surprising that Snape would ensure to take the steps so Harry was properly prepared.

He'd felt pain, as he knew he would, but Snape had moved very slowly and waited patiently for Harry to relax. Harry was thus not surprised to find himself whimpering softly on all fours in the darkness, Snape's heavy weight atop him as they strongly rocked together. Harry's warm bum nestled perfectly into Snape's hips and his head was dipped forward, exposing his neck and shoulders. He felt Snape's hair tickle across his skin, and moaned appreciatively. Fingers splayed over the hand that Harry had supporting him by an abandoned pillow, intertwining together with Harry's own fingers. Snape's other hand had reached under Harry, spread out across his chest and pulled him close to ensure as much skin contact as possible.

Snape leant down for a second to lick slightly at the top of Harry's shoulder blade, before biting down on it. Almost breaking the skin with his bite, Snape noted that it would definitely leave a bruise. He growled one word: "Mine."

Harry jerked upon hearing Snape's claim, thrusting himself back almost painfully. For a moment, all he could feel was sweat, warmth, a very large fullness, a shudder, and the intense feeling of being completed. Fireworks rained through his mind, and without a second thought Harry passed out.

…..

Ringing invaded his dream, an old heavy ring that sounded bizarrely like a telephone. Harry grunted in his sleep. The ringing started again, and Harry opened his eyes. Beside him on the bed, Snape was lying on his stomach, pillow tossed on the floor sometime in the middle of the night. Snape managed to lift his head and look at Harry, hair covering his face. The ringing sounded again.

"What on _earth_ is that?" Snape muttered, concentrating on opening one eye. It worked for half a second, before he dropped his head back onto the bed.

"I dunno." Harry grumbled, dragging himself out of the covers and heading toward the living room. Whatever it was, Harry was going to strangle it. He held his wand out, pondering just what hex would be best to use on Peeves.

Harry stood in the center of the living room, grateful not to find Peeves there. The ringing continued, and he finally narrowed his eyes on the small bookshelf in the corner. Things suddenly clicked into place as he moved to answer the rotary phone.

"Hullo?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Potter? Apologies if I woke you." The voice on the other end sounded amused.

"I uh..no. What time is it, Prime Minister?" Harry glanced around the room, but couldn't focus on the kitchen clock without his glasses.

"Nine am, and it's David, no formalities needed. I'm calling with some news on Kevin Krantz."

Harry woke up a bit more, and moved to the couch, wincing as he sat down and staring at the lack of phone line attached to the phone. Magic was handy.

"Good news or concerning news?" Harry flicked the drapes open and found a cloudy day outside. Not bad for a Sunday, though they both had plenty of marking to do that day and so going outside was doubtful.

"Good, I suppose. We have apprehended Krantz's supplier, with Mr. Shackelbolt's help, and we know Krantz will be back in England around Hallowe'en. You gave him your address, did you not?"

"Yeah, Snape did, in a way." Harry yawned.

"Excellent. Our SIS office and your…Aurors are they called? Well anyway, they believe that Krantz will now try to contact yourself and Mr. Snape regarding his compounds. We had originally thought that Krantz would be using his findings for some sort of chemical compulsion of people in the USA; however, he has increased his contact with British wizards it seems. He's, ah, using quite a few owls here in London and he's not been very subtle about it."

"Wonderful." Harry muttered.

"Indeed. There is not much further information at the moment, however please keep us informed if Krantz does make contact with you. And please pass the message along to Mr. Snape. I of course, do not wish to wake him." The Prime Minister sounded like he was smirking, and Harry snorted.

"Thanks, David. We'll talk to you later."

Hanging up the phone and dropping it off back on the shelf, Harry walked back to the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. He shivered slightly in the bed, cold from having to get out. Clamping hard on the duvet, Harry smirked as he rolled forcefully, pulling them across the bed and off of Snape. One good turn gets all the blankets, after all.

It only took a minute for Snape to realize he'd stolen them, however, and Harry suddenly found himself enveloped in a hug, pulled back against a warm body.

"Ow." Harry murmered, his bum feeling rather tender as Snape tucked his legs up behind Harry.

"Potion later." Snape grumbled back, before they both slipped back into sleep.

…

The next staff meeting to be held was the following Wednesday, and in exchange for less annoying behaviour, Minerva had promised not to share their secret amongst the other professors until it was time. Both Harry and Snape guarded their privacy fiercely. Snape shuddered at the headlines that would no doubt stain the front of the Prophet for months should the press ever find out. "Evil Death Eater Seduces Chosen One" and other such atrocities.

Looking around the room, he wondered if any of the other professors were harbouring secrets of sordid affairs. His eyes rested on Sinstra, and he shuddered again. Mental images were not welcome at this, or any time.

"Severus, you are required to be at these meetings. At least pretend to pay attention."

Minerva was impatient and from the looks of her notes, still had a long way to go. Snape didn't even bother to look guilty at getting caught, but instead shuffled the papers in front of him and slowly rolled them together. Flitwick was suggesting ideas for an October Hogsmeade weekend to keep the students from having cabin fever, and Snape thought best to let them go. As far from his flat as they could get.

He glanced at Harry seated beside him, and found that after a minute the constant rolling of pencil on the table was quite annoying. Harry was obviously on another planet, but for some reason he could not desist from rolling the pencil, making small high-pitched noises as it went over the grooves in the table. Somewhere Hooch mentioned that fool Lockhart. Snape, his full concentration on the irritating pencil now, stole a quick glance at his partner, noted the daydreaming in his eyes, and smacked Harry's hand with the paper roll as efficiently as if dealing with a buzzing fly.

Snape smirked, as Harry and the rest of the professors had jumped at the sudden movement. It only took a few seconds before Harry's glare penetrated him, and he saw the younger wizard open his mouth to say something scathing when a cold flush of magic hit them both. Petrificus totalus, and a bored sounding Minerva holding her wand was the source.

"Frozen for two minutes. Severus, he is not a household pest, Harry, rethink that reply you were about to grace us with." A snort of laughter came from a few of their esteemed colleagues.

"As I was saying, " Hooch continued, "when that idiot Lockhart was here there was a dueling club. The students seemed really interested in that, and even though You-know-who is gone, a little practise wouldn't hurt. Besides, we all know how popular Mr. Potter's DA sessions were when Umbridge was here. And according to the history books, we have two of the best duelists here."

Minerva considered this, and noted out of the corner of her eye that both men had broken out of the spell. She raised her wand and used it as a pointing stick, but the message was clear. Behave.

"If you are willing to supervise Mr. Potter and Mr. Snape as they attempt to teach dueling, by all means, go ahead." There was a challenge in that statement, and Hooch looked horrified at the mere thought.

"We could use the Great Hall like last club time. There are no books to put back together." Harry tried to sound friendly, but doubt registered on the faces of most of his colleagues. Snape was strangely quiet, no doubt considering how to work this to his favour.

"Minerva dear." Dumbledore's portrait chirped up. "Why not let them use the Room of Requirement for this task?"

"So nice of you to join us, Albus." Minerva spoke with terse lips.

Dumbledore beamed at the staff, who were all eyeing him wearily. "Well now, I do think the dueling club will give Harry and Severus here a better chance to know each other, and that room is able to transform itself to whatever one desires or needs."

Both Harry and Snape glared at the portrait, while Hooch just regarded the old man as if he were rather drunk.

"No, they can play outside. You get the quidditch field." Minerva consented, staring down both until she had their attention. "And I will make due on that previous threat should I find you dueling inside the school."

And so, before the students rose the next morning there were notices pinned to the common room bulletin boards in all four houses. _HOGWARTS DUELING CLUB Saturday October 10th, 2 pm at the quidditch pitch._ It only took an hour and a half from the time the students had finished breakfast before the rumours had confirmed throughout the school that Professors Potter and Snape would be hosting the dueling club, and from what it sounded like, not many students wanted to miss the display.

From their spot at the high table, Harry could only hold back a grin. He loved dueling, and Snape had always kept him on his toes. He felt a small pressure brush against his thigh as Snape moved to get more potatoes, and Harry did smile this time.

All throughout the hall students were stealing quick and sometimes not so subtle glances at them, and Harry could only imagine the thoughts running through their minds. Would this weekend be the weekend one of their two professors finally knocked off the other? He actually did snort at this, choking on a piece of potato and receiving a look of mock loathing from Snape.

"Honestly Potter, you can't even die without making a ridiculous amount of bothersome noise."

…

Harry leaned against the kitchen counter in the flat and tapped his hands against the edge of the hard counter. He had a Plan. True, he should have already learned that his plans were not the best for keeping himself out of trouble, but Snape wouldn't finish teaching for another hour and it was a fairly innocent plan. It only required one spell, maybe two.

"Point me Snape's list." Harry's wand spun him toward the bookcase, where a small pensieve sat in a box on the lower shelf.

"You must be mad." Harry scoffed aloud to himself, absolutely refusing to touch it. "Accio Snape's To Do list." Harry triumphantly called. A roll of parchment sailed towards him from the desk and Harry carefully opened it. His smile faded quickly as he read the words that were unraveled.

"Tsk tsk, Potter."

"Bollocks." Harry grumbled, carefully putting the parchment back. He knew he shouldn't snoop, but Christmas was in two months and Harry knew if he didn't start looking for present ideas now, he'd never figure out what to get Snape in time.

Snape found him later, sitting on the floor surrounded by CDs. Before coming to Hogwarts Harry's had persuaded Arthur Weasley to enchant a CD player for them that would still work within the castle, as well as a VCR and telly. They could only listen to music or watch movies on the devices, not receive any signal for television shows, but the movies were all they wanted.

"Getting ready for karaoke night?" Snape asked with an amused voice, smirking as Harry whipped his head around.

"No. Yes...what? How do you know what karaoke is?"

"I'm a half blood, Potter, not a bloody recluse. As you should know, seeing as you're digging through my CD collection."

"Right…" Harry replied distractedly, putting the CDs back in order.

"Besides, one can hardly miss the warbling our dear colleagues call singing at the end of year staff party." Snape added idly, sorting his class notes into folders at his desk.

"No way." Harry was fighting a giggle at the mental image of Minerva McGonagall singing anything.

"Oh yes," Snape smirked, catching Harry's thoughts inadvertently through the rings. "Her, Hooch, and Sprout, all singing I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor. They've claimed it to be their song."

Harry burst into laughter. He only settled down five minutes later when Snape moved over to the couch and slid gracefully into the soft cushions. Friday evenings were quiet and calm and their favourite time of the week.

"Snape, tomorrow's a free day. Pick something embarrassing from your list."

"Embarrassing?" Snape quirked his eyebrow as Harry stretched and climbed into the chair by the fireplace.

"Last week I took you to meet the Weasleys. Believe me, it's your turn." Harry pointed out, as he added a log to the fire.

"And you're taking me back there on Sunday." Snape summoned himself a root beer from the fridge. "I'm quite alright completing that type of list item by myself, thank you."

"That's not how it works." Harry protested, fighting a pout. "You know I won't laugh at you."

"Fine." Snape rolled his eyes at Harry and summoned the same roll of parchment from his desk. After a minute he looked up and tried to look nonchalant. "Join a sports team."

Harry blinked and bit his lip before he could say anything stupid. Instead, he nodded.

"Muggle or Wizard?" Harry finally asked in a neutral tone.

"I am uncertain." Snape replied cautiously. "Though I don't believe my talents are best suited for quidditch."

"No, I don't think so either. Too vicious." Harry agreed, keeping any tone that could be mistaken as teasing out of his voice. "You need a sport that involves logistics, I think."

"I don't consider chess a sport, Potter." Snape took a drink and started idly rolling the bottle cap on the side table.

"Me either, but don't tell Ron that." Harry grinned. "Cricket?"

"I don't run." Snape leveled.

Harry thought back to the last altercation he'd seen where Snape had retreated – out the window. Right, he didn't run, he flew.

"Golf?" Harry asked, remembering how Vernon had talked of the sport as if it were for kings.

"Ridiculous sport." Snape replied. He refused to dress in a pompous mismatched outfit and chase a small white ball up and down fields all day.

"Well rugby's out. What about polo?"

"No horses." The bottle cap was turned into a cork.

Harry shoved his socked feet closer to the fire and slouched down. What was that sport McGonagall had mentioned to him earlier? He scrambled to remember the details, as now that he thought about it, it was a potentially good sport for Snape.

"Curling." Harry finally remembered. He turned to Snape with a smile. "Old Scottish game McGonagall told me about, it's now quite popular. You have a bunch of round stones that you have to slide down a sheet of ice, knocking out the other team's stones. And you get points for being closest to the….I swear McGonagall called it a button. But it seems like it's almost all strategy and accuracy."

"That may be a possibility." Snape conceded after a moment's consideration, still wondering why Harry had not laughed at him for wanting to join a sports team.

"Brilliant." Harry smiled. "I've got to run to the library later for a class book, I'll see if there's anything on curling there."

"Perhaps we should invite the headmistress for dinner tomorrow." Snape suggested, reaching a new level of terror as he stared at the fire. "Only to gain further information, of course." He added, as Harry stilled in surprise.

…

The Burrow was _loud_. Snape had studied animals in school, indeed had even been called a walking encyclopedia at points, and he knew that weasels in general enjoyed quiet in their little domains. Not so at this Burrow. The walls were bright and covered with random artifacts and decorations everywhere, voices echoed from rooms to the sides and above him, feet seemed to be endlessly moving about on the stairs or in the hallway, and somewhere upstairs he knew a ghoul added to the cacophony. Snape was rather uncomfortable with the endless assault on his ears and eyes, but the Weasleys were perfectly content with this form of organized chaos, and he put up with the Weasleys for Harry.

Snape took comfort knowing that Harry was rather overwhelmed at points with the energy of the house as well.

When they'd arrived Snape had stood off to the side, waiting as Harry had been given a proper Weasley welcome, and then was shocked to find himself being hugged by Molly Weasley. Snape had stiffened at the contact, but Molly had pretended not to notice and said nothing of it, instead just welcoming him back and shooing them up to Ron's room while the dinner was being made.

Molly watched the four go upstairs, paying particular attention to Simon Prince. He was taller than Harry, his chocolate brown hair cut neatly around his ears and along his neckline in a stylish men's cut. The eyes were more grey than blue, and displayed a marked maturity, eyes of a man who had seen more of the world than was necessarily healthy. Harry had told Molly that Simon was twenty-nine, but Molly knew the man was closer to his late thirties. He dressed conservatively, charcoal grey slacks, a casual cream coloured collar shirt, and a royal blue cable knit jumper that matched his eyes splendidly. He was very neat, polite, and showed both the Weasleys and Harry respect.

Molly admired that. She also admired the way Simon's hand naturally trialed to the small of Harry's back as he followed him up the stairs, as if he was protecting Harry. When Harry and Simon had arrived Molly had noticed that neither looked like they were sleeping well. Oh, the boys were trying to hide it, but Molly did not have a hoard of kids without the experience that went along with it. It was just the way their shoulders were slightly hunched, and how the smiles didn't quite meet their cheeks. She'd seen that look on George all summer.

Molly returned to the kitchen with a smile to herself, ignoring Arthur's questioning look. He'd been trying all week to guess who Simon really was. Molly just continued to smile as she charmed the sweet potatoes to peel themselves. Her adopted son had finally found someone strong enough to ground him, something she knew Ginny could never have done properly.

…..

Ron opened his door with trepidation, never for once in his life thinking that Professor Severus Snape would ever be stepping into it. The Cannons regalia was still covering most of the available wall space, and though there were childhood knickknacks strewn about the surfaces, he sent a silent thanks to George for making him box away the more embarrassing items before he'd moved to Grimmauld Place.

Snape looked around in the room, inspecting it with barely hidden curiosity. The room was no bigger than his own at Spinner's End had been, but the difference was certainly startling. For all the teasing he'd heard by the Malfoy brat and had done himself about the financial status of the Weasleys, it did look like the Burrow was a wondrous house to have grown up in. He'd tasted poverty all through his childhood, and never known that the house and family could still be so rich, for lack of a better word.

Snape sat in Ron's desk chair, allowing the younger couple to sit on the bed. He was not surprised when Harry plunked himself down on the floor in front of Snape seconds later, leaning against his legs.

"Sorry it's so bright in here sir, must be very different from your dungeons." Ron apologized, with a blush.

"While the difference is rather notable, I don't believe you should apologize for the decorations of your own room, Mr. Weasley." Snape replied lightly. Ever since Harry's silly little experiment, Snape had found it easier and easier not to inflict malice into all of his statements.

"Well, dinner will be done soon anyway, Mum just wanted us out the way while she finished." Ron grinned.

Harry laughed, and Snape felt the warm vibrations in his legs. The conversation continued without him, talk about Grimmauld Place and plans for the future. Snape studied the trio, the way that Granger leaned in against Weasley, how his hand unconsciously rubbed circles on her thigh. They seemed to love each other, something Snape had seen coming since their infamous fights over that stupid rat all those years ago.

With a start, he realized that those little gestures they shared were some that he had done with Harry. In the morning, before Harry woke, Snape often leaned over and messed up the black hair even further than it already was. He gave small shoulder rubs and squeezes as they passed each other on the flat, and more often than not found themselves sitting together on the chesterfield in the evening, watching a movie or listening to music.

Merlin. Not even half a year after the war and he'd fallen in love with Harry bloody Potter.

Snape's attention was brought back to the conversation by warm fingers gently caressing his anklebone, just above where his shoes ended. The fingers circled softly around the bone, squeezing slightly. At least Potter is just as affected, Snape thought with a smirk.

"Alright, I want to ask something." Hermione proclaimed, abruptly changing the conversation. "Do you ever call each other by your first names?"

Snape gave her a bewildered look.

"No."

"But why not?" Hermione asked, clearly confused but spurned on by curiosity. "It's obvious that you like each other, and you're together…"

"I don't like his name." Snape explained, pointing a finger at Harry. His tone indicated that he thought this was a perfectly valid argument. Ron laughed.

"Severus sounds like a Roman gladiator. Why would I call him that?" Harry added, looking put out by the strict Latin name.

"Don't ever call me insensitive again." Ron told Hermione, with a grin on his face.

"Oh honestly, you're all dense. I suppose neither of you mentions the word love, either." She sounded exasperated to be surrounded by such emotionally stunted idiots.

"Four letter word, Hermione." Harry replied, and then stuck his tongue out. Her answer was cut short by Mrs. Weasley's yell up the stairs.

"Dinner in a moment! Come set the table please, you too, Simon!"

"She always treats us like we're kids." Ron muttered.

Snape pointed his wand at himself and the glamour reappeared. He reminded himself to ensure the potion recipe was hidden carefully away, as his potion made it quite easy for less scrupulous people to literally have split identities whenever they wanted.

Standing up, Snape followed Harry to the door, grumbling.

"The things I do for you, Potter."

They trudged down the stairs and Hermione followed behind after a few seconds glance. Ron looked at her quizzically as she kept looking at the doorframe after them.

"They do say it." Hermione murmured.

….

Dinner was quieter than the week before. Neither Charlie nor Percy was available, and Bill had taken Fleur out for dinner. Snape sat beside Harry at the kitchen table, Ron and Hermione across from them. The dinner was a hot and thick lasagna that Snape was certain outdid the house elves' recipe by miles. He was peacefully enjoying the meal, thinking to himself, when he realized that the room was entirely too quiet. Quiet Weasleys worried him.

"Harry dear." Molly started. "Minerva stopped by the other day for a cup of tea. She mentioned that you are doing well teaching the Defense class."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley." Harry smiled after a moment, waiting until his mouth was empty. "It's actually been rather fun teaching the kids, though with Voldemort gone it's hard to keep their attention sometimes. They're too carefree about it." Harry managed to roll his eyes and his friends laughed.

"Well, it's time for some fun too, don't forget. Though I heard that one of your lessons last week scared the class." She looked pointedly at him and Harry blushed.

"The immortality lesson was important for them to learn." He mumbled.

"Of course, dear." She smiled, and Harry instantly felt wary. "And what about this wonderful flat? You've got your own private room with floor to ceiling windows, I've been told."

"Yes…" Harry started, wondering just what else McGonagall had told her.

**It's a trap, Potter.**

Snape, whose own mother had been a true Slytherin and hell to grow up with for her mental games, was quickly trying to figure out what Molly was after.

"That's wonderful." Molly was passing out second helpings and Ron gave Harry a warning kick under the table. Molly pointedly ignored her son.

"Perhaps the next time we're in Hogsmeade we shall visit, seeing as you've yet to invite us to your summer home."

Harry saw a bit of hurt on her face and felt a bit guilty. "It's nothing much, Mrs. Weasley, and I…"

"Nonsense, Harry!" Arthur chapped in, giving them a smile. "We're family, and we'd love to visit. Simon must visit you all the time!"

**Fight it Potter.** Snape was sat very still.

"It's just a small room, really." Harry said, trying to convince them that it was really nothing. He knew otherwise, knew that besides Cairn Hollow that their flat was the best spot in Scotland.

"Yes, and it's probably wonderful to you, Harry. Your own first place to truly call your own." Her smile was genuine and Harry relaxed. This was not going to be a discussion on who he was living with.

"Yes." Harry answered, his voice a bit stronger, though he was fighting off a yawn.

"You can decorate it as you like, walk around in whatever clothes you want, sleep in till whenever you want…" Molly continued, watching as Harry nodded happily at each point.

"And you don't even need to put up silencing spells for your nightmares anymore."

"No, no spells needed." Harry agreed, before blanching and smacking his hand to cover his mouth.

_Damnit._

Ron shook his head and cleared his and Hermione's plates. Snape was staring out the window, and Harry was trying his best not to look into the sad eyes of Molly.

"Harry, I know you won't stop having nightmares from the war. Not for a long time. But you need to talk to someone about it dear, so that they don't start consuming you."

She stood up to get dessert and under the table Harry felt Snape squeeze the top of his thigh. It was a good reminder to keep his mouth shut. As Molly started handing out pieces of pie, hesitating slightly over Fred's empty chair, Harry thought about how George had been handing the aftermath. He'd gone to see that muggle psychiatrist, and Harry supposed that's what Molly was referring to. Harry didn't want to involve more people into his misery however, and since he'd gotten closer with Snape, the nightmares had lessoned.

"They're not consuming me Mrs. Weasley. I'm fine." Harry put on a brave smile and thanked her for the pie.

"Harry." Hermione interrupted, ignoring Ron's appalling manners as he dug into his dessert. "We just want to make sure you're okay. Neither you nor…Simon look like you're sleeping the best."

"I assure you my sleeping habits are satisfactory, Miss- Hermione." Snape spoke with rigidity in his voice.

Hermione merely rolled her eyes, and Snape itched to take points.

"Yes, well, Harry." Molly continued, ignoring Snape's slip. "Its just that you hid yourself away all summer dear and now we see that you're back at Hogwarts, staying by yourself, and at war with Professor Snape again." She kept her gaze fixated on Harry.

"We'd like you to know that if you need to speak to someone, we will be here and help out. You yourself died in the war for a few minutes, young man. That is not something that one just walks away from."

Harry glanced around the table for help but only Hermione would look at him, and her eyes were filled with the same concern as Molly's. Even Arthur was staring at his dessert.

"And Harry James Potter, if you ever feel like you're completely overwhelmed and at the end of your rope, you will come and tell one of us right away." Her voice was stern, and Harry knew not to disobey.

"What do you mean, at the end of my rope?" Harry asked, wanting to make sure he knew exactly what he was not to disobey on.

Molly looked at him with sad and experienced eyes. "I mean when you feel like you, like you…" She trailed off, not able to finish the sentence.

"When you've got nothing left to live for anymore." Ron supplied, one hand on the back of Hermione's shoulder, the other one knocking once softly on Fred's chair.

Harry looked rather shocked when the meaning set in.

"No! I promise I will. But I haven't felt like that. I couldn't do that, couldn't cast that spell!"

"I know." Snape said, his voice colder than usual, the food on his plate forgotten. "You cannot turn your wand on yourself for the killing curse. I discovered that years ago." He subconsciously rubbed his left arm, where the dark mark was hidden ironically by muggle make up.

Arthur did not miss the action, and for the first time all evening allowed himself to relax once he realized who Harry had chosen to be with.

….

Molly was all smiles again as they stood around the fireplace, the small pouch of Floo powder offered around. Harry and Snape were leaving first this time, and Snape was a bit surprised to find himself un-adverse to shaking Arthur Weasley's hand upon his exit.

"Now, Simon, we expect that you are able to fully take care of our Harry?"

Molly's eyes were bright with amusement, but Harry still felt like he was being treated like a child.

Snape thought that Harry's blush was rather delectable, and he remembered back on all the passionate sex they'd finally indulged in that week.

"Indeed, Madame, I am fully capable. Once upon a time I even made a lion roar." Snape smirked as he watched Harry's face roll with a red-hot blush, stammering a goodbye as he spun off into the fireplace. Snape was about to join him when a sweet voice made his blood freeze.

"Oh, Mr. Slytherin?"

Snape turned to find Molly and Arthur watching him, neither holding anger nor annoyance in their eyes. Merely a strange contentment was there, and it was a look Snape was unused to.

"Please tell Mr. Gryffindor that when he finds his courage, we are waiting for him to reintroduce you, without that glamour." Molly's voice was deadly soft, a far cry from her normal shrill tones, and in that moment Snape understood why those bothersome twins had always remained mindful of their mother.

She started again before he could think up a lie quick enough.

"We trust you and that you're good for him. You care for him, and that's enough for any parent."

She refrained from hugging him this time, and Snape merely nodded before stepping into the fire.

…

When they finally had warded the front door properly, Harry tiredly made his way to the bathroom to change for bed. Snape noticed the owl waited on their window ledge as he was putting out candles, and when he opened the letter he called Harry out. The owl was from a London Express service., and perched on a kitchen chair while it waited for a response.

Snape held out the parchment for Harry to see, suddenly feeling much more awake.

_Mr. Prince,_

_I have come into some difficulties in my lab, and require your assistance in creating a potion. I will of course compensate you handsomely for your time and efforts, if you wish to take me up on my offer. I will need approximately 500 individual doses of calming draught, and there is a deadline. Please send a return owl so we can discuss the terms._

_Regards,_

_Kevin Krantz._


	13. Ch 13 Delirious Tales

Thank you all for your patience in me posting the story. I had not planned on real life throwing a wrench in my plans. However, I will continue to post new chapters every two to three days. I'd like to thank JKR too, for not fully defining things in the wizarding world, which lets me completely set my own rules. :)

Ch 13 -Delirious Tales

Harry sat huddled in the curler's lounge of the Inverness Ice Centre, a mug of hot chocolate in his hands. His feet were propped up on a heater under the large wall of windows, and he carefully watched the game below. It was a Tuesday evening, where people new to the sport could come and try it out. He was dressed as muggle Henry, slightly loose jeans paired with a collared shirt and a knit jumper. A green woolen cap rested on his head, red hair curling up a bit beyond the edges.

"And who are you here with, dear?" A soft voice startled him out of his thoughts. Harry smiled as a woman resembling Madame Pince sat down next to him. She had a bunch of pins on her jacket that Harry could see were from different curling tournaments. Bonspiels, if he remembered correctly.

"With Simon." Harry gestured towards the sheet of ice. "The one with the long brown hair, the black sweater, and the scowl on his face." Harry added, smirking.

Out on the ice, it was Snape's turn to throw the rock, and he took a calming breath before starting. He pushed off from the hack like he'd been showed, and slowly released the heavy granite stone in his hand, giving it a slight twist as he let go. It continued along its path as Snape gingerly got to his feet, only slipping a little on the ice. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips in satisfaction as his stone knocked out one of the other team's, and rested closer to the centre of the target. Looking up, Snape saw that Harry had been watching his every move.

"Och. Bit of a severe one, him. Lots of patience he has, then?" She took a drink from her thermos and smiled easily at him.

Harry laughed lightly as he thought back on all his classes as a student. "Not quite. Logic, however, and strategy are his fortes." Harry grinned and offered his hand out.

"Henry Prince."

The lady took his hand and introduced herself as well, Coira McAdams, wife of one of the instructors. Down on the ice, the game had ended and the players were slowly making their way back to the lounge.

Snape made his way towards Harry's chair, his fingers slowly warming up again and his thighs feeling rather tight. He knew that come morning his legs would be rather sore, though he couldn't explain why his head currently felt like it was at war with a cotton field.

…..

"Molly knows that Simon isn't real." Snape murmured into Harry's ear, nibbling on the bottom of his earlobe as they rocked together. Harry's legs were locked around the back of Snape's thighs, and he groaned loudly.

"Don't mention Molly when you're fucking me." He gasped out, pulling Snape harder against him.

"You'll have to tell her." Snape ignored him, grunting as he spoke the words. "Unless you still want to pretend it's not me." There was an underlying tone of hurt and uncertainty in Snape's voice, which he tried to distract Harry from with nimble hands on the man's chest.

Harry swatted away the distraction and pushed Snape up, forcing him to roll over and lie on his back, leaving both men aching for completion. Harry pinned Snape to the bed, arms over his head, kneeling carefully over Snape's abdomen.

"Listen up, Severus Snape." Harry growled, his voice menacing. "You chose the first visit to go as Simon, not me. I'm not ashamed of who you really are."

Snape almost had to look away from the brilliant green eyes that were flashing at him. He didn't know why he felt insecure about being Simon at the Weasleys. They'd been the Princes countless times in the muggle world, so why did it make such a difference now? Snape ignored the voice that was chanting in his head. The Weasleys are family. He can't lie to them forever, so if he won't tell the truth, you'll have to go.

A very warm and pulsing sensation at the tip of his groin snapped Snape's attention back to Harry. The eyes were alive with determination and dominance.

"Not ashamed." Harry proclaimed again, before leaning down to lick at Snape's neck. "Claim me." Harry whispered.

It was a direct order and was all Snape needed to hear. As his hands painfully held Harry's hip still, and he rocked forward with all his might, Snape felt the bed tremble under their rough and frantic movements. He felt light headed, but Snape was certain that the feeling and the incredible heat rolling off his body was due to the strength of their love making.

They came with a dizzying intensity, and Snape didn't even register the pain from the bite mark left on the nape of his neck.

….

Harry woke up feeling extremely hot, and sticky. He grimaced as he rolled over, a heavy weight slumped half on top of him. Harry focused on the large clock beside the bed, seeing that it was just six am. With that he turned his head back, and realized that the body that was on fire was not his. Gingerly lifting Snape's arm, Harry rolled his partner onto his back. Snape's face looked flushed, and he was covered in sweat.

Wide awake and slightly panicking, Harry sat straight up and put the back of his hand on Snape's forehead. Burning up. Not thinking clearly, Harry pulled back the covers of the bed to see the rest of Snape's body, if it was just as flushed. He started palming Snape, moving up and down the man's chest and becoming more worried. Not only was Snape's body burning with fever, he seemed to be shivering as if cold.

Being distracted, Harry didn't notice when clumsy hands reached up to swat him away.

"Fuck off. M'cold." The eyes never opened, but Snape curled himself up on his side.

Harry stood off the bed and covered Snape in a light blanket, running his hand raggedly through his hair. Six am, well, hopefully it wasn't too early.

Harry left the room quickly and walked towards the fireplace, pinching enough Floo powder to initiate a fire call. After five minutes of calling her name, Harry relaxed to see Molly Weasley's face appear in the flames, and moments later, step through to the flat dressed in her bathrobe. Harry was babbling at her, something about fevers, hot skin, and never being sick before, so she shushed him and pushed him towards the bedrooms.

Molly stood in the bedroom doorway, admiring the clean lines of the decoration and masculine colours of the room. The windows were covered in sheen drapes that let a bit of light come through with the morning sun, leaving Molly enough light to see into the room quite well. Harry stood beside her, fidgeting with worry, calming a bit when Molly put a hand on his shoulder.

Lying on the bed Molly saw a form huddled in the fetal position, shivering slightly as he slept. Messy black hair covered his face, and she could hear a slight wheezing as he breathed in. Molly looked around the room as well, noting black robes dropped on the floor on the right side of the bed, and a throw blanket tossed haphazardly on the dresser.

Snape's nightstand had a stack of five books that were leaning precariously next to a half drank glass of water, and a small tube that looked suspiciously like muggle lip balm. It looked identical to the samples Arthur had brought home one day, and Molly as well recognized the muggle pill bottle on Harry's side, sitting beside the alarm clock and the tiny stuffed owl. She ignored the bottle of lubricant that was also sitting there.

She stepped into the room slowly and dug through her bag, pulling out a thermometer. Harry watched nervously, but instead of walking any further towards Snape, she held out the instrument to Harry and waited for him to take it.

"This is Simon, right Harry?" Molly asked, knowing the answer already but waiting for Harry to say it aloud.

"Yes. This is Simon." Harry admitted. In his panic to call her over he'd completely forgotten about their silly disguises.

"It's alright, dear. I knew Severus was your boyfriend." Molly seemed to pause on the last word, if only because it sounded slightly juvenile.

"He's…my Snape." Harry confirmed, looking at the bed and feeling strange about the boyfriend word as well.

"That he is. Place this under his tongue for three minutes and then check the temperature. You will need to take his pulse as well, and check his throat to see if it is swollen." She gave him a little push forward, and stayed near the dresser away from the bed.

Molly tried to blend into the furniture as she watched the young man she'd come to love as a son move to the side of the bed and with as much care as he'd show a baby, slowly pull back the blanket and turn Snape onto his back, strong hands molding into Snape's forehead and shoulder. She saw as black eyes looked up confusedly at Harry when the thermometer was placed under the tongue, and Snape's whole body seemed to relax when Harry traced a finger down the strong jaw line, whispering something that Molly didn't quite catch.

Harry gently moved his fingers up and down the side of Snape's neck, checking to see if either felt swollen. They were a little, but Harry didn't find the discovery too alarming, not with Molly's presence in the room. He was certain she'd dealt with enough sicknesses to know when to worry. Snape's pulse was close to normal as well, which calmed Harry down further. After the requisite three minutes Harry removed the thermometer and leaned over, brushing his lips across Snape's forehead.

Molly stood back and turned out into the hallway, amused at the blush Harry gave her after he remembered she was there. Holding up the thermometer to the light, she showed Harry what was a normal temperature for wizards, and what to be concerned about. Snape definitely had a fever, but it was within the normal range for a wizard flu.

After retreating to the living room, Harry was lectured on how much fluid Snape should be drinking, which potions he was allowed to take, how long he could be out of bed, and what signs to watch for that meant the fever was getting worse or that it was breaking. Molly gave him some hastily written soup recipes that had been thrown in her "sick bag", and patted his head.

"You're a good boy, Harry. Just make sure he's comfortable, and put a cold cloth on his forehead. And change the bed sheets often." She gave him a warm and genuine smile as she moved back toward the fireplace.

"That's everything? Just wait it out?" Harry was relieved that it was just a flu that Snape had, but after never seeing the man sick from something so common in seven years, the vulnerability had both unnerved and awed him.

"Just wait it out. We're lucky our flu only lasts a day or two. And watch for fever hallucinations, he'll need to be comforted after one."

Molly chucked as the "elf caught in front of a troll" look returned to Harry's face.

"They're like nightmares, but the fever makes them very unrealistic. He'll probably believe they're true though." She wished him good luck again, and left in a roar of green flames.

….

Seven hours later, Harry felt the bed start to shake. He was sitting on his side of the bed against the headboard, enjoying the Sunday Prophet, when Snape started to toss in his sleep. Small, unintelligible words were whimpered, and Harry tried his best to wake Snape gently. After a long minute of coaxing and a strong grip on Snape's arms, Harry pulled him up so that Snape was leaning against Harry's shoulder.

Eyes finally opened and found Harry, who had placed another cold damp flannel on Snape's forehead. Harry's arm was held around Snape, and he kept him close while the older man stiffened.

"You." Snape whispered, his voice a bit hoarse from his sore throat. "You ran off with the man with the purple elephant."

Harry kept his face neutral, but inwardly frowned at the statement. Snape was not looking at him, but instead at Harry's hand that rested on Snape's stomach.

"I have done no such thing." Harry responded softly.

Snape captured his hand and looked closely at the ring that was on it, running his finger over the design. Harry felt like his finger was melting under the touch, and leaned over to kiss Snape's messy hair. He hoped the man wouldn't hex him tomorrow for the absurd amount of affectionate touches and kisses he'd been giving out today.

"That's one of the Prince family bonding rings." Snape muttered, shifting so that his head was cradled in Harry's neck.

"Yeah, it is. Given to me by a true Prince."

Snape seemed pleased with this answer, and nodded off again against Harry. Harry stiffened as he heard the words mumbled into his shoulder.

"You love me."

…

Harry looked around the classroom at the students, who were staring in horror at the screen at the front of the room. Snape stood at the projector, sending images of manticores up to the front, a slightly malicious grin on his face.

_Are you feeling alright? I think Harper here is going to piss his pants soon._

Snape stared at the Hufflepuff sitting up near the front of the room.

**Of course he is, he's a Hufflepuff. And stop mothering me.**

_I'm not mothering you, you git. You're barely recovered from the flu._

**I'm FINE. **

Harry winced at the barking voice in his mind, managing to glare back to Snape after a second. Students in the front rows had started to look between Snape and Harry, wondering why they were all of a sudden glowering at each other.

_Perfectly fine, I can see. Your left hand shaking is part of your new personality?_

Snape stiffened but never looked away from Harry. He snapped at a student whom had timidly raised his hand in the air.

"Can you change the picture, sir?" The voice wavered as the student avoided looking at the dead manticore on the screen.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Baker. Get a stronger stomach."

Harry stood up at this and anger was evident on his face. _My office, NOW._

Both Snape and Harry stalked off to the room, slamming the door behind them on the confused students.

Harry stood behind his desk and ran his hands through his hair. Snape paced on the other side, arms crossed. Neither said a word, knowing that the portraits in the room were fully listening in on their favourite subjects.

_What the fuck's going on?_

Snape's eyes snapped up at the language. **I would think you've known me long enough now to recognize my darling personality, Potter.**

_Quite bloody right. Are you still feeling sore from the flu?_

**Piss off about the flu!**

Snape was growling and still pacing, but Harry noted that the arms crossed the chest were not out of anger, but instead looked like a gesture of self-comfort. Almost as if he was giving himself a hug.

_This is about yesterday. But it's got nothing to do with physical sickness._

Harry leaned against his desk, ignoring the little Dumbledore that had snuck into a portrait behind Snape. Neither had muttered a word yet, but the portraits knew that some sort of argument was ongoing.

**I took a potion yesterday to combat the symptoms of my illness. I am not responsible for what I said.**

_Like telling me I loved you?_

Snape's breath hitched and he leaned against the desk as well, pushing his face close to Harry's.

**That never happened.**

_Stop being difficult, Snape. Are you embarrassed or something?_

"You know, you may get on much better if you actually talk to each other." An amused voice that sounded suspiciously like Dumbledore sounded from across the room. The figure in the painting had a fraction of a second to jump out of the frame as two wands were drawn and two exes were fired with deadly accuracy. The frame shuddered violently and spurted ugly purple hair from the combination of hexes.

_We are NOT done yet_. Harry blocked the door, where Snape was headed. _You got your little relationship speech in the summer; I'm giving mine now._

**I was hallucinating from the fever. **

_I wasn't. Merlin, Snape, use that oversized brain of yours. I took care of you yesterday, so what? You were sick. I've cooked for you before too, shopped for you, I even taught you how to bake pie._

**That is irrelevant.**

_Is it? I've gone on dates with you; I've introduced you to the Weasleys. I wear your ring._

**You do those things because of the list, Potter. Nothing more.**

_My list is finished!_

Harry slammed his hand against the classroom door, startling both Snape and the students trying to eavesdrop from the class.

_It's been finished for a while now, you idiot. For fuck's sake, I've had my tongue in your arse. Do you honestly think I would do that if I didn't love you?_

Snape's arms dropped and there was silence as he stared at Harry. Dumbledore watched half hidden in another painting, bemused at the silent mixture of facial expressions.

**I have long suspected you to be brain damaged, Potter.** Snape slowly thought, and Harry could see he was trying to keep a straight face.

_Right foul prat you are._ Harry couldn't help smiling, and Snape crossed his arms again in a huff.

**Potter, I don't believe I can respond with that endearment.**

_Yeah, sure. I'm quite certain prat is in your vocabulary. _

"Potter!" Snape sputtered, catching some of the voyeurs off guard.

_I know what you meant. It's alright, say it when you're ready._

**The impatient Gryffindor isn't threatening to leave if he doesn't hear what he wants in return?**

Snape watched Harry pull a vial out of his robe and walk calmly over.

_I'm not impatient. And I'll make these bloody rings official if it'll get you to believe me and stop freaking out about a word so much._

Snape's face lit up in shock and a tiny bit of glee, and he accepted the vial that Harry handed him with very little question.

Harry knew he'd have to put that look in a pensieve later. Snape with glee on his face was bizarre.

"You still look feverish." Harry explained, watching Snape drink the whole vial. He recognized the taste a minute too late.

"That was a calming draught." Snape proclaimed in a neutral tone.

Harry smirked and inched back toward the classroom.

"Potter, I am going to throttle you." Snape sounded relaxed, and Harry stifled a giggle.

"Not for another five hours you're not." He laughed, before escaping into the classroom.

…

Minerva had just finished taking a tour around the school with the board of governors when she noticed a commotion out in the hallway. They were about to enter the Great Hall for dinner, but from upstairs could hear a lot of muffled whispering and some laughter.

Harry Potter suddenly appeared from around a corner, looking a mixture of amused and slightly annoyed. He was being pushed forward at wand point by Snape, who looked uncharacteristically calm.

Minerva cleared her throat while the governors stared, and they turned to look at her.

"Good afternoon, Headmistress." Snape offered, no malice in his voice whatsoever. Harry grinned sheepishly and pointed to his throat, just as Minerva realized that he couldn't make a sound.

She sighed to herself and shook her head at Harry. "What have you done now?"

"Oh, I don't think you'll believe it even if I were to explain." Snape's face remained neutral and Minerva studied him.

"Have you been poisoned?" She knew he'd been sick with the flu, but had never imagined this as a side effect.

"Mr. Potter felt it prudent to give me a calming draught. I suspect I shall be very annoyed later."

Harry started to silently shake as he tried to stave off a laugh, and Snape cuffed him lightly across the back of the head with mild indifference.

Minerva, unfortunately, was finding the situation rather amusing herself.

"I imagine you will be. Perhaps you should go to dinner, the both of you." She kept her lips tight, but both men could see the mirth in her eyes.

They turned and continued down the hall, ignoring the group of students that had hung back to eavesdrop.

"Severus!" Minerva called out as an after thought. "Release the silencing spell by 8 pm. I will stop by to visit."

As they swept out of the hallway and into the Great Hall, Minerva turned back to the governors with an apology for the interruption. At the questioning looks she was given she merely shook her head.

"Yes, that is normally how the great Snape and Potter act. The students are still relatively safe, do not worry. They only seem to have it out for each other."

….

The invitation had been mass printed on cream coloured stock paper, in all probabilities from the same printer that spat out the Daily Prophet. There was one addressed to him, one to Harry, and one to most of the other Hogwarts staff. It had not escaped Snape that neither Trelawny nor Hagrid had received invites, and he felt suspicious. They'd been delivered to Hogwarts early one morning, by a very harried delivery wizard who looked like he'd been up all night on the task.

Snape didn't trust the intent. It was a seemingly innocent invitation for a ball to be held at the Ministry of Magic, a black tie event with seemingly the who's who of the Wizarding world there. Snape knew that there would be some sort of political agenda, behind the ball, but as the official host had not been printed on the invite, it was hard to guess what the true aim of the get together was.

Snape placed his invite next to Harry's on the fire mantle, walking over to his desk and flipping through his calendar. He had almost finished the potion for Krantz, creating a legitimate batch of calming draught. They had agreed, with the Prime Minister, to complete the potion and wait to see what Krantz would do with it when the three met up on October 20th.

And now there was this Ministry ball merely a day after. Snape stalked off to the bathroom to take a hot shower. He'd long stopped believing in coincidences.

…..

Harry handed him a small clipping from the newspaper and sat back in the old leather chair by the fire. The staffroom was nearly empty, as most of the staff were just finishing classes or conducting office hours. Pintar, the new arithmancy professor, was in the corner talking with Hooch, and Snape figured they were not being watched too closely. He nudged a cup of tea over to Harry and took the clipping without comment. It was a note from the Prime Minister that Harry had charmed to look like a newspaper clipping, confirming that Kevin Krantz was back in the UK, and that they had been unable to determine his success mixing his imperius curse additive to the calming draught.

One other addition to the note was in reply to a question of Snape's. Krantz had not been seen around the Wizarding world at all, but they had identified the man that he'd met with when Harry and Snape had gone to London in September. Aurors had identified the man as Fenton Greeley, a wizard freelance reporter.

He looked up after finishing, and saw Harry was anything but relaxed while slouched in the chair. Snape frowned over Greeley's name; as it sounded rather familiar.

"I think he's done it. But what does he need such a huge batch for?" Though nearly alone, the staffroom was still a public place, so Harry waved his hand and whispered muffliato.

"I don't think Krantz wants to use it. I believe he was commissioned, by someone whom could afford the research and supply costs." Snape affirmed, and accio'd a book about the history of the Ministry of Magic. He opened it up and pointed to the self-updating list of ministers.

"A very large gathering a day after the potion is delivered, filled with more of the highly influential members of the Wizarding world."

Harry nodded solemnly and flipped the book to show a floor plan of the Ministry building.

"Can you put a tracking spell on the containers you deliver the potion in?" Harry asked, knowing it was probably a stupid question.

Snape was silent and considered Harry's statement. It was a valid suggestion, and though simple and easy to avoid, usually it was those spells that were most overlooked.

"Perhaps. I'll insist upon hand delivering it to Krantz's lab." Snape stopped short when the door opened and Minerva, Poppy Pomfrey, and Irma Pince walked in. Harry stared at the paper and muttered something under his breath, while Snape broke the muffliato charm.

As the trio made their way over to where Harry and Snape were sitting, Harry quickly swiped his thumb over the invisible ring on his hand.

_Planning for the dueling club. Ambush around Hogwarts like muggle capture the flag._

Snape gave a slight nod and then spoke.

"While I conform that dueling club meant on stage as in a formal duel, this capture the flag game of yours is not as moronic of an idea as you normally conjure."

Harry tipped his mug to him and answered.

"We shall attack from here," he said, pointing his wand at the paper, which now had a sketched map of the Hogwarts grounds on it. They were approached, and Pomfrey was the first to speak.

"Are you actually both having a civil conversation?" She looked from the atlas to the map, and realization dawned.

"Of course." Snape snapped. "One must be civil when in the intricacies of planning war."

Harry conjured up some pawns to stand on the map as if in key positions. Minerva looked worried.

"You're going to ambush the dueling club. You'll let them play it out and think they've won, and then ambush them." She spoke clearly and watched for a reaction from either.

"No, no." Snape shook his head distractedly. "We have more finesse than that. We'll pick off individuals from each team throughout the game, to leave them under defended. And then," he said, pushing his own pawn forward from behind Hagrid's hut, "we strike without mercy." There was an evil glint in his eyes and Harry fought the urge to snort. Instead, he moved his own pawn from behind one of the green houses to the other side of the student's position.

"It'll be like shooting fish in a bucket, really." Harry gave a wicked grin, and though he could tell his colleagues had never heard that particular colloquialism before, it was easily understood. Collecting the figures and rolling up the parchment, he stood up and walked off, grabbing a scone before he left. Snape soon followed and they departed for their own offices. It was the least suspicious way for both to return to their quarters.

Back in the staff room, Madame Hooch finally spoke up.

"As much as the bickering was annoying, Minerva, I think you've crossed the line by trying to get them to get along. Because if that," and she pointed at the two empty chairs, "is what they're like when they get along, the Weasley twins will seem like a pair of Pygmy puffs."

….

It felt very strange to be walking into the Ministry again, and even stranger so to not be chased after. Dressed in simple robes, as the Princes, they entered the atrium and registered at the front desk. Their wands were inspected, wands that had been purchased in Wales and were not tied at all to the name Snape or Potter.

Harry walked slowly behind him, ensuring that no one bumped into the large crate they were carrying. It was a large potion order, and oddly, instead of demanding that the 500 doses be individually decanted into separate jars, Krantz had requested that the solution be kept together in one or two larger containers. Though charmed featherweight, the box was still awkward to carry and they were relieved to set it down in the elevator. The ride was silent, down towards the unused storage level of the Ministry.

Snape had been surprised at the chosen meeting spot. Either Krantz was a remarkable idiot, or this was a set up. Krantz was not a wizard, not even a squib, he was merely the cousin of a wizard, and had somehow become involved enough in the Wizarding world to not only gain entrance to the British Ministry of Magic, but to arrange for a meeting and storage in an unused room there. Not only that, but Snape had gathered from their last correspondence that Krantz was fully aware of how suspicious and borderline illegal his actions were.

The elevator slowed, and both Harry and Snape made sure their rings were activated. Harry unconsciously touched the buckle of his belt, confirming that the portkey was still there. He'd been shocked at first when Snape had pointed a wand at his crotch, but matching belt emergency portkeys had been a begrudgingly good idea.

The door opened and they walked out, following the maze of passages until they came to room 243. The 3 was hanging upside down, and the door looked like it hadn't been opened in a century. Snape walked in first, itching to draw his wand, but instead leaving it in the hidden pocket of his slacks. The box was placed on a desk, and both Harry and Snape were agitated, pretending to ignore Krantz as he stood against a wall watching them.

"Good evening, Mr. Krantz." Snape finally said, wiping his hands together after releasing the box.

"No need for formalities, Simon. We're all friends here." Krantz moved toward them, one eye on the box, and one eye on the wizards. He was dressed in wizard robes, and Snape figured it was to fool them into thinking he was one.

"Old habits, Mr. Krantz. The potion is in two containers, as requested." Snape's eyes never left Krantz's, and he wondered if the man knew about legilimency.

_I think we've been set up._

**Relax, Potter. I've been doing this for years.**

Krantz opened the lid to the box inspecting it quickly. "Excellent quality, as I have been informed to expect of your work."

"Thank you." Snape murmured, pretending to be looking around the room. He focused on the table at the back, with one lone cauldron simmering beside it, large enough to accompany twice the draught that they'd brought.

"I see you are curious as to my progress." Krantz beamed, his arrogance overtaking his paranoia at the moment.

"Oh yes." Harry spoke up, flashing a nervous grin. "Not many people experiment with a regular calming draught."

"No, they don't." Krantz said, beckoning them over to the table.

Harry took a cautious step forward, but was halted by Snape's strong hand gripping his waist possessively. Harry looked up for a quick glance at Snape, and followed his gaze. In the corner of the room in the shadows sat two chairs, and Harry could see some rope tossed onto the seat of one.

"Excellent powers of observation, Simon." Krantz had turned around, and Harry's heart froze as his attention was caught by something rather shiny that suddenly rose up at them.

"I am a scientist, Mr. Krantz." Snape deliberately chose the muggle word, and gave a slight squeeze on the hip that was trembling every so slightly against him.

_Snape, that's a gun._

Snape didn't turn, but instead held Krantz's eyes in an intense stare, willing the man to act first.

**I know what a gun is Potter. I've been at the end of one before.**


	14. Ch 14 A Bang, A Bruise, A Loon

AN: Sorry, shorter chapter than usual and fluff at the end. Ah well. Bold and Italics are mental talk through the rings. :) Oh, and JLM Potter, I haven't read that book, no. This is not the final chapter, but it'll probably be two or three days until I can post the next. Thanks for all the reviews. :D

Ch 14 - A Bang, a Bruise, a Loon.

The gun was pointed between them, and Snape's grip on Harry was strong enough to bruise. Harry let out a slow breath as his eyes never left the gun, but Snape seemed to be staring at Krantz and calculating their next ten moves.

"Sit in the chairs." Krantz ordered, nodding toward the corner. "And no funny business, or your pretty little husband will be keeping me company."

Snape stiffened at this, but walked them over to the chairs where he allowed Krantz to tie them up.

**Flex your wrists, Potter. Outward, so you've got slack in the rope.**

_Why are you letting him do this? He's going to kill us!_

**Idiot Gryffindor, we need to find out who he reports to, before doing anything rash.**

Krantz moved back toward the table, putting the gun down but keeping it pointed at Harry and Snape. He gave them an evil smile, before returning to his work. Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes.

**Potter, if he tries to harm you, you have my word I will eviscerate him.**

Snape spent the next ten minutes cataloguing everything in the room, before he noticed what sounded like a radio playing in his head. He stared around for the source, but there was definitely no music playing in the room, just in his head.

He turned to look at Harry, who had finally calmed down.

**Potter, where is that music coming from?**

Harry startled, but didn't remove his gaze from the workbench.

_I …I'm nervous, Snape. I play music when I'm nervous._

**Did you play this when you battled the Dark Lord?**

_Yeah, it was in the background of my mind._

**Hmm. A fitting, though rather melancholic tune.**

They both looked up as the door opened and a rather familiar man entered the room. Krantz turned his head in irritation, barking out to the man to tell him that he was rather late and he'd better get on with his task.

As soon as the newcomer had stepped into the light from the doorframe, Snape's mind clicked and he allowed a small twitch of his lips to show his amusement.

Krantz gave a glint of a smile to his cousin as he nodded to Fenton, pointing out Snape and Harry.

"Go ahead, they're all tied up. Just need you to obliviate them."

Fenton Greeley moved slowly forward, cursing his stupid American cousin for tangling up in the magical world. Fenton would have been rather happy to have retired into nothingness, but instead he'd been talked into one last project to help his muggle cousin. Two more days, and then he'd been promised freedom.

Krantz noticed the hesitation, however, and slammed his stirring rod down on the table in irritation.

"Get a move on, I need the older one to help mix this after you're done. Have a laugh at the stupid skull tattoo on his arm, if you want."

Greeley froze in recognition, and a very Snape-like sneer materialized on Simon Prince's face.

"A skull tattoo?" Fenton asked, glancing between Snape and his cousin.

"Yeah, with a snake or something on it. Looks rather stupid and faded." Krantz replied distractedly, as he measured out a vial.

"What!" Greeley stuttered, looking aghast. "You captured a bloody Death Eater? Have you gone mad?"

Krantz picked up the gun again and for once there was a trace of worry across his brow. Snape's sneer was starting to unnerve him as well.

"What are you talking about? That's Simon and Henry Prince, not those Death Eater people."

Greeley felt like strangling his cousin himself. Of course, in the USA the news of You Know Who hadn't been that huge of a deal, even though had the monster succeeded, he would have eventually set his sights on total world domination.

"Fenton! Obliviate them now, I need him for the next stage." Krantz was getting annoyed and a bit nervous.

"How was your stay in St. Mungo's, Mr. Greeley?" Snape asked with a cold malicious voice.

Fenton shuddered at the question and looked with horror at Snape. Snape slowly rubbed his legs together once, stating _Finite Incantatem_ in a dangerous whisper that everyone heard. The wand that was hidden in a pocket along the inseam of his pants responded to the spell and undid the glamour. Long black hair felt to his shoulders, black piercing eyes replaced the grey ones, and the fully intimidating Snape scowl was there.

"Fuck." Fenton swore, immediately lowering his wand. As if on cue, Harry repeated Snape's actions and changed back into himself, causing Krantz to narrow his eyes in thought.

"I've seen you before." He managed to say, still somewhat taken back by their change of appearance.

"Of course you have, you idiot! That's Severus Snape and Harry Potter, the two men who brought down Voldemort." Fenton was inching back toward the door.

Snape sat rigidly back in his chair, looking as if he was merely sitting still and watching the show. Harry also sat still in fight mode, and did not move when he felt the ropes restraining his hands come loose.

Fenton was pacing by the door, muttering to himself about bloody foolish relatives, bloody foolish plans, and the intense need for a drink.

"You're on your own, Kevin." Fenton finally said, making up his mind.

"You can't leave me with them! Do your damn job, they're tied up, for Christ's sake!" Krantz was becoming a bit desperate, having lost control of the situation.

The handgun was being waved erratically around the room and Harry felt cold blood running through his veins as he watched it. He wasn't quite sure if magic could fix a bullet wound.

"They won't be for long."

In the space of five minutes, though it really seemed both much longer and shorter than that, one gun shot went off, two men screamed, a third was crushed against the fourth in a very protective way, and a fifth man barged into the room with remarkably unintelligible blathering. Glass shattered, a crystal clear recording of a song played perfectly in Snape and Harry's minds, and the room went dark.

The last thing that Snape thought about when the room went silent was how comforting _Time of Your Life_ was to listen to. Harry's last thought was of a sharp pain in his foot, and the fact that Snape was going to kill him for getting injured.

…..

"Who was shot?" Shacklebolt sat in his office, David the Muggle Prime Minister sitting with them at the table as well. He had been brought along to provide information from his position on the case, but was currently staring unashamedly around the office, enthralled by the moving portraits and oddities found everywhere.

"No one was shot." Harry stated, snatching a sandwich from the tray in front of him.

"Someone said they saw Snape running towards a fireplace with an injured person in his arms." Kingsley explained.

"I do not run." Snape huffed out in irritation.

"Moving fast, then, to get to the Hogwarts infirmary?" Kingsley amended, pouring a bit of mead for the Prime Minister.

"Yes, well, this little idiot broke his ankle tripping over some debris. I was merely ensuring that he did not do permanent damage to it." Snape nodded towards Harry, who was blushing but not saying a word.

Kingsley chuckled and brought out a piece of parchment, with an auto write quill. He set it on the desk and the quill stood poised, waiting for the reporting to start. The Prime Minister brought his attention back to the conversation, and idly noted bruises in the shape of a hand on Potter's arm.

"You stunned and detained Mr. Krantz, as well as Mr. Greeley?"

"Yeah, though I think Greeley was being blackmailed into being there. He seemed to be very hesitant to obliviate the Princes, especially when he recognized who Snape was." Harry said with a grin.

"Was he successful with his potion?" David asked, enjoying his mulled mead.

"He was." Snape answered, watching the quill write. "He had the properties and ingredients correctly assembled to create an imperius based calming draught, and was ready to test it tomorrow evening."

"How was he going to administer it?"

"Charmed sprinkler system." Snape smirked. "Krantz was very stupid for writing out such detailed notes. At tomorrow's Ministry ball he planned to set off the sprinkler system, and dose the invitees with the potion. Thusly, he would have command of some of the most politically powerful wizards and witches in England."

"When did the great mastermind walk in?" David asked, wishing he could get one of those self-writing quills.

"Fudge? He came in just as we obliviated Greeley. Mighty upset to see his plans foiled again." Harry said, relaxed.

"I imagine not. I don't think he's happy to be seeing the inside of Azkaban, either." Shacklebolt agreed.

"Azkaban, the prison?" David asked, searching his memories for the reference.

"That's the one." Harry smiled. "Anyway, Fudge was stunned before he could say much, but the aurors hit him with veritaserum after we left, I think. He'd commissioned that potion to control enough people to vote him back into office."

"Rather pathetic. I can't wait to leave office." David mumbled.

"Mmm. And the gun went off when Krantz dropped it. Fudge had barged through the door with his wand drawn, startled the hell out of Krantz. Shot straight through the table that was holding up Krantz's potion." Harry returned his mug to the table and stretched.

Snape stood up and placed his arm around Harry, pulling him protectively up to his side. David suddenly understood where the bruise on Harry's arm had come from.

"I think you'll get more information from Fudge for now, if he's under the veritaserum still. Mr. Potter and I shall be going home."

They walked towards the fireplace and lit it with a wand.

"Thanks for your help, gentlemen." Shacklebolt said, putting away the parchment for now. He gave a nod and took another sip of his mead.

"Yes, thank you both." David smiled, remaining in his seat. "Where is home, by the way?"

"Wales." They replied at the same time, before muttering something else and disappearing into green flames.

….

Cairn Hollow was cold and dark, the chilly October air permeating the rooms. Snape started a roaring fire in the kitchen and waited for Harry to set the kettle to boil before picking the man up and plunking him on the kitchen table.

Harry oofed in response, startled at the movement. Snape pulled his injured leg up and undid the shoelaces. Slipping off the shoe, he unrolled Harry's sock as well and inspected the anklebone, noting the slight discoloration of skin.

Madame Pomfrey had supplied them with the requisite dosage of skelegrow, which Harry had reluctantly let Snape accept. The only reason he had allowed it was that he knew Snape probably had a viler tasting version in his stores.

Soft, nimble fingers massaged Harry's ankle and he closed his eyes in pleasure. The house was warmer, and Harry felt very relaxed, even more so than at Hogwarts. This was his kitchen, his home. The wooden table beneath him was one that he'd chosen while on a break from the horcrux hunt, in Ireland of all places. When Ron had returned to their little camping foray, Harry had had a few moments to go out and get things for his new home.

Snape put his hand on the table near the scorch mark from the absinthe incident. His other hand reached up and cupped the side of Harry's cheek, drawing him back to the present.

"I would suggest doing something from the lists this weekend, but you claim to have finished yours."

Harry stuck his tongue out at the smirk on Snape's face. "That's not what I meant. I'm still remembering things I wanted to put on it."

Snape helped him down and pushed him towards the stairs. It was rather late, and they could read in bed before sleeping.

"I find that I am adding things to mine as well."

"So what did you want to do this weekend, then? I'm sure McGonagall won't mind us away from Hogwarts for a few days."

Harry went to the washroom as Snape thought, brushing his teeth and washing his face well. The Kevin Krantz mission had not been weighing on his mind with trouble anywhere near the annoyance of Voldemort, but it would still be nice to sleep without concerns of scheming and plotting wizards.

He crawled into bed in his boxers, snuggling under the covers as he watched Snape re-enter the room wearing nothing put plaid sleep pants. Harry held the covers up as Snape slipped in, and he let his hand wander softly over Snape's chest. There was a light dusting of hair on Snape, and Harry raked his fingers through it.

"Had I known you had a fondness for patting fur, I would have bought you a cat."

"This isn't fur." Harry grinned, before letting his tongue take over his ministrations. All thoughts of lists and crazy wizards were banished from Snape's mind when that wicked tongue dipped beneath the band of his pajama pants.

Snape's 9 am Wednesday NEWTS potion class was either wise enough or had enough self-preservation to not mention the fact that for the first time in two years, Snape was late to class, and looking rather unconcerned by that fact.

…..

Harry had been very surprised to hear Snape's request, but had not laughed, nor appeared shocked either. One lesson that Harry had learned over the months of living with Severus Snape was how to think before showing his more blatant emotions right away.

No, he'd kept himself behaved, and so now found himself standing with Snape, who was fidgeting with some rucksacks in the noon sun. They were both dressed very warmly, as the October day was bright but cold. Minerva had given her permission for an extended weekend for them both, and so Harry felt rather excited when Snape finally stood up, put the bag on his back, and held out a compass. Harry grabbed it and immediately felt the tug of a portkey.

After what felt like fifteen minutes of spinning in a black hole, Harry landed on a soft forest ground and his feet crumpled beneath him. Snape rolled his eyes with a small smile and hoisted Harry back to his feet, before pushing him along the trail to his left.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, walking into a small campsite. They were up a little bit from the lake, which Harry could easily see through the loose cropping of trees and small rocks. The clearing that Snape lead him to had evidence of an old campfire, the ground was clear and there was a little nook under some trees that was perfect for the tent Snape had bought the day before.

"Canada." Snape's voice was softer than it had been the other night at the Ministry, and Harry was rather glad to see that Snape had relaxed. He had originally wondered why Snape of all people would want to go camping, but taking a deep breath of the clean air answered that. No constricting castle walls, no other people making noise, no interfering schedules. A new type of freedom.

It had taken Harry a good thirty minutes to put the tent up, having first ignored the directions, but then reluctantly going back to them when he realized it would be faster that way. Snape had stayed away, choosing to cook a meal for them instead, though Harry was certain he could hear Snape snorting at his attempts.

Mid afternoon brought some distant thunder, and so they crawled under the protection of the tent. Snape lay on his back atop his sleeping bag, staring thoughtfully at the roof of the thin material. It was early evening back home in the UK, but he didn't felt too tired yet.

"Ask your questions, Potter."

Harry was sliding on his bag a bit as he tried to get comfortable on the air mattress.

"Who gave you your first root beer?"

Rain started to fall harder, making small knocking noises as it bounced off the tent roof, sounding similar to small pellets.

Snape turned to look at Harry, who was lying on his side with his eyes closed. It was the not the question Snape had been expecting.

"My aren't you the persistent one." His tone was light though, and he raked his hair back from his face.

"Mmmh." Harry agreed, opening his green eyes to regard Snape again. "Considering I've bought you probably three hundred bottles of it since May…" Harry teased, poking Snape in the belly.

Snape slapped his hand away and gave a small sigh.

"Laura Stauton, an old neighbour of mine when I was a child." Thunder cracked above and Snape breathed in the musky scent of clean water and damp forest dirt.

"I am sure you remember what you saw during occlumency lessons?"

Harry nodded and rolled closer to Snape, enjoying the warmth. "The row between your parents?"

"It was never just the one." Snape mused, more to himself than Harry. "Regardless, I often found myself walking across the back garden to Mrs. Stauton's kitchen door. Lovely southern woman who had come to England a few years before I was born. She never asked what brought me over, and every time sat me down at the table with a root beer. She knew why I was there."

Snape was starting to feel the dampness from the rain, and pulled Harry's arm over himself, turning a little so Harry could fit in behind him.

"So it's a comfort thing." Harry asked, tucking his knees behind Snape's and burying his nose in the black hair in front of him.

"I suppose." Snape answered with a yawn.

…..

It was almost six thirty in the morning when Snape woke, still savouring the warmth of his sleeping bag. His breath was visible in the cold morning air, though he could see the sky lightening through one of the tent's mesh windows. Harry was still sleeping beside him, but Snape was only certain of that because he could hear the regulated breath. He couldn't see Harry, because the younger man was buried deep in the depths of his sleeping bag and several layers of clothes. Snape knew Harry didn't like the sharp cold.

But Harry was there with him, and after some mumbling he woke up. Snape was already dressed but Harry was hesitant to get up and expose himself to the cold air. Snape promised hot chocolate and a beautiful sunrise, and Harry finally agreed to those terms. In a few moments they met outside the tent and began the walk towards the lake. Harry was shivering and not fully awake yet.

The path was rocky and had tree roots intertwined with the dirt and rocks like steps. Snape worried that Harry would trip in the dawn darkness, but he made it to the bottom all right. Snape led Harry to what looked like the edge of a rock, but then Snape stepped down to the hidden shelf in front of the water below. Harry joined him, and they sat together under a warm blanket.

Snape poured hot chocolate from a thermos out and handed the cup to Harry, who was looking for what seemed like the first time at the lake. The sky was a mixture of blues and oranges; the dark night colours being chased away by the sun's growing warmth.

Neither said anything; they just sat thinking and watching the sunrise. It was rather beautiful, the first rays rising above the line of evergreens across the lake, dancing along the tops of them like flames. And the trees did in fact appear as if they were on fire.

The sun lazily appeared and though it was almost blinding at first, their eyes grew accustomed and it became pleasant. With the sun came warmth, which slowly took the bite off the cold grasp of the morning.

"This is awfully romantic of you, Snape." Harry snuggled the blanket closer to himself, and Snape noted that he had a small chocolate moustache.

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not unable to feel love or give romantic gestures." Snape refused to look at Harry, but he didn't feel embarrassed. He'd loved before in his past, and though it had always left in heartache, Snape couldn't help but welcome the warm feeling inside again.

"Of course. You're human, just like me. Not some sort of greasy dungeon bat." Harry smiled easily and it disarmed Snape.

"Did you mean what you said about the ring?" Snape pointed across the lake at some loons that had appeared on the water.

"Have I ever said something I didn't mean, especially when I was arguing?" Harry watched, enthralled by it's graceful swimming in the brisk cold water.

"Most likely, Potter. This time…?" Snape saw the group start to splash in the water, the sounds cutting across the lake.

"This time I meant it." Harry replied. He saw the loons play around together, and jumped a little when Snape's hand found his under the blanket. His ring was removed from his finger, but before he could ask, Snape spoke again.

"Now come the races."

Harry looked at Snape with a puzzled look on his face, but Snape didn't explain further. He knew some things were better understood through the eyes. The honking started and the loons splashed around before finally two of them took off, skimming across the top of the water and racing each other.

Out of the corner of Snape's eye he saw a look of astonished amusement on Harry's face. There were more races and noise, each loon seemingly wanting to take on every other one. Finally they flew off and Snape turned to face Harry.

"You know, I think, when we're old and grey, I'll remember this." Harry said, nodding toward the lake.

"I imagine they do that every morning." Snape offered, his voice a little higher than it normally was.

"Why did you take my ring off?" Harry asked, an uneasy smile on his face.

"Would you like to wear it, officially?" Snape kept his eyes locked onto Harry's, the green depths swirling with emotion. Snape felt a bit of relief when he thought he recognized the feeling.

"I…yes, yes I would."

The ring was placed slowly back on his finger, warmer than Harry had ever felt it before.


	15. Ch 15 A Christmas Sadist

AN: My apologies for the wait on this, I was going to post it earlier but the gold medal game was on, and I have my priorities straight. :P YAY CANADA! I think for the story there will be one or two chapters left. It's getting harder to keep them in character now that I'm moving far away from the final battle, but I'm still having fun. :)

JonathLee - I wrote a response to your review, hopefully it arrived to your email properly. No idea if I did it right. :)

Ch 15 - A Christmas Sadist

Snape felt utterly ridiculous as he slipped quietly from room to room down the hall, keeping to the shadows and making sure he did not make a sound. He blamed Potter for this. It was absolutely Potter's fault that he was currently making his way outside of the castle, walking down to Hogsmeade, and buying a gift. Not just any gift, but a gift to bring as a dinner guest-about-to-be-family.

Completely Potter's fault, Snape muttered in his mind, before walking outside to find something the Weasleys would enjoy. Potter's idiotic plan to shirk out of the wedding planning better work, or the promised sex later that evening would only be the beginning of what he owed Snape.

….

"Well?" Molly had served the final desert and was staring expectantly at Harry and Snape.

"Well what?" Snape asked with a bored expression. His gift of chocolate had been well received by the Weasleys, and he knew that within an hour he could leave and return to their quiet flat.

"When is the wedding?"

George was snickering into his pudding, thankful that the attention in the room was not on him.

"Last Saturday in January." Harry meekly offered, waiting for Molly to pounce.

"And have you started arranging for it?" She asked, growing excited.

Snape acted his part, and kept his tone uninterested. So far, Harry's plan was working.

"Arranging? We say our words, the rings are placed on hands, what more is needed?" Snape's eyebrow was raised in mock disbelief. Molly was close to snapping at him, and he fought a smirk.

The fireplace in the living room flared to life and Molly was temporarily distracted. Hermione walked into the room looking only slightly disheveled, and wondered at the tension.

"What's going on?" She asked, eyeing the men and Molly.

"These two haven't given a single thought to planning their wedding." Molly replied, exasperated.

"That's not true!" Harry blurted, his face schooled perfectly into a look of indignation. "We chose a date."

"You chose a date. Honestly, Harry." Hermione rolled her eyes and took a seat beside Ron.

"Miss Granger, neither Potter nor I are overly sentimental. Why on earth you believe we would take pleasure in planning a large wedding is beyond me." Snape snuck his hand under the table and gave the top of Harry's thigh a small squeeze.

"You're hopeless is what you are, Severus. And stop calling him Potter." Molly chided, moving over to pick up her calendar.

"January 30th?" She pondered, checking something. Both Harry and Snape nodded.

"And what colours would you like for the theme?" Molly had started writing an alarmingly large list.

"Black." Snape replied without thought, at the same time that Harry replied with blue.

"Green is good as well." Harry added, and Snape nodded his consent.

Hermione laughed, but Molly looked up at them with exasperated disdain.

"You will not have 'bruise' as a wedding colour theme."

They were permitted to leave nearly an hour and a half later, after Molly had not only grilled them about every wish they had for the wedding (surprisingly simple and few), but had also cajoled a guest list, potential food list, and desired location for the event from them as well. Harry had threatened to stupefy Mrs. Weasley before they could leave.

…

Four students remained at Hogwarts for Christmas that year, two Slytherins, one Gryffindor and one Hufflepuff. The Great Hall remained elegantly decorated for the holidays, the twelve Christmas trees brought in by Hagrid twinkling as if alive under the glow of the candles. Harry walked through the room on Christmas Eve looking rather content, having secured a portion of that evening's dessert from the house elves for later. He slipped out of the hall and down the small marble staircase that lead to their flat, pausing at the door and taking a deep breath.

Entering the rooms, Harry was not surprised to find the flat empty. Snape had mentioned something about a meeting with McGonagall, so Harry took the chance to enjoy the solitude for the moment.

Harry had told Snape at the beginning of December that having a proper Christmas at home was definitely on his list, and he'd left the designation very open to ensure that Snape could not rule out smaller activities that Harry had forgotten to add to his original request. After a small discussion on what exactly Harry thought was a proper Christmas, and a few pointed questions toward Snape, Harry had concluded that a real Christmas was on Snape's list too.

The result had been nothing short of brilliant. They'd spent a weekend in Cardiff shopping for people's gifts, sharing hot chocolate together and inwardly mocking the fashion sense of those around them in the streets. Snape's goal had been to make Harry sputter hot chocolate, and it had taken him a good twenty minutes of non-stop sarcasm before he achieved that aim.

The next week had been spent slowly decorating the flat for the holidays, in tasteful and subtle decoration that did not overwhelm the rooms. Two stockings were hung by the mantle, three Christmas cards, which Snape had been guardedly excited to receive, were sitting on the bookcase. A small wreath hung on the inside of the flat's door, and by the windows they had hung small garlands and fairy lights. On the kitchen table was a small covered bowl filled with gingerbread cookies, that Severus Snape had actually taken precise care to decorate with icing.

Harry smiled to himself and eased back into the couch, flipping through the stack of videotapes they had to choose from for the evening. He'd gone to a rental store the day before to rent some Christmas classics, and was certain that Snape would like at least one of them.

In the corner, Harry felt a warm glow as he regarded the Christmas tree. They'd spent four hours the Saturday before decorating it, after bargaining with Hagrid to get the tree situated in the flat with as little damage as possible. There were not many decorations, but the ones that had been placed on were all there with real meaning. A small cauldron ornament that Harry had found in a shop in London, a potion vial filled with Harry's favourite just-baked-pie scent, a hand stitched crest of the Prince family, two small broomsticks, a small stuffed phoenix, a few small snakes, and a carved likeness of Hedwig that Hagrid had given Harry.

Snape had added some additional green and silver ribbons throughout the tree, which Harry had countered with red glowing baubles. He refused to have a tree that was too much Slytherin colours, though had relented on the gifts. A few gifts had been placed already under the tree by Harry, small little ones wrapped in silver and green, mostly just to tease Snape. Though he'd never done it out in the open, Harry had caught Snape early yesterday morning peering carefully at one of the gifts and picking it up gingerly to inspect.

The door opened and Harry turned to see Snape walk in, looking slightly guilty. He shrugged off his cloak, hanging it up on the hook, and slinked off into the second bedroom that they used for storage.

Harry smiled again and turned his attention to the telly, which had just turned on with the click of his remote. Taking a chance, he chose _A Christmas Carol_ to watch, and paused it when the screen came to life. Harry had just finished setting the snacks out that the elves had brought when Snape eased back into the room, settling himself into the couch. Harry plonked down beside him, squirming until he was stretched out against Snape's chest and had his feet entwined with Snape's.

"T'was the night before Christmas and all through the castle…" Harry started with a smirk, jumping slightly when Snape poked him in the ribs.

"Leave that rubbish to Peeves." Snape retorted, pressing play on the movie. Harry draped a knit blanket over them, and got lost in the contentment of Christmas Eve.

Through the glass windows that twinkled in the distance, snow started to fall.

…

Harry stared at the clock beside the bed table, as he had been for the last twenty minutes, wondering not for the first time if Peeves had cursed it to move slower. He lay as still as possible, to not wake the man who was currently splayed out beside him with an arm possessively draped around his chest. Finally, the 59 flipped over to zeros, and Harry jubilantly threw off the covers.

"It's Christmas!" He announced with a grin, before starting to laugh. At the sudden movement Snape had jumped up to his knees and whipped his wand out, but his hair was obscuring most of his vision and Harry could tell by the slight sway of his body that Snape was definitely not Fully Awake.

The growl he received a moment later confirmed that. Harry stood at the end of the bed and admired the long muscular legs that climbed out of bed, dusted with dark hair that lightened as it reached under the black silken boxers that Snape wore. As the man moved Harry admired the small curves of Snape's arse that was accentuated through the thin material.

Snape stretched in front of the wardrobe, by now aware from Harry's silence that he was enjoying the show. Harry watched as the muscles on Snape's back lazily stretched themselves, strong but not overly broad shoulders leading to muscular forearms that Harry well knew the power of. When Snape bent down a little to retrieve a shirt from the drawer in the wardrobe, Harry lost his patience.

He sauntered over quietly and wrapped his arms around the older man from behind, feeling the warm stomach and muscles beneath quiver at his touch. Snape straightened, and Harry's hands continued up, dusting lightly over Snape's nipples, before pulling him fully flush against Harry. Harry nuzzled against the back of Snape's neck, giving it a small kiss, knowing that that action sent shivers down the man's spine.

"Happy Christmas, Snape."

"Happy Christmas, Potter." It was grunted back, and Harry left to make some strong tea for them both. Though seven am was not too early a time for them, they'd stayed up rather late watching holiday movies. Finally after twenty minutes both were sitting by the Christmas tree, tea mugs on the floor beside them, and Harry's eyes were gazed over at the lights and presents.

Snape started handing them out, but was interrupted by the sound of a crash from the other room. Harry gave him a curious look, but continued to open his traditional Weasley jumper while Snape went to check on the noise. This year's sweater was a very rich blue colour, and Harry was impressed by how soft the material was. He was just about to tell Snape to open his own sweater when he caught sight of what the man had returned to the room with.

"I believe having a pet was on your list?" Snape asked, with a trace of uncertainty in his voice. In his hands was a small ball of brown and white fluff, a cat that looked similar to a lynx in markings. It was purring loudly and its bright blue eyes were open and swerving around wildly to see the room.

Snape sat down beside Harry and offered the young cat over, wincing when its back claws scraped along his hands.

"It's a girl." Snape growled, watching as tiny beads of blood appeared along the scratch marks. Harry had taken the kitten from him and was giving her a nice rub along her neck, entranced by the soft fur.

"She's gorgeous." Harry commented, before setting a bow from a present to skitter along the floor with his wand. The kitten gave a small high-pitched growl and pounced after it, nearly knocking over a stack of presents.

"Perhaps I should not have given her that much sleeping potion." Snape commented idly, as the tree was attacked with vigor and a red bauble swatted from one of the lower branches.

"Maybe not." Harry laughed, before passing Snape a present from him. Snape took his time unwrapping the gift; it was not one that had been under the tree until late last night, and he hadn't had the chance to inspect it. Inside Snape found a brand new muggle camera, and a few rolls of film.

"I know you like photography, I don't need to look at your list for that." Harry said with a smile, in response to Snape's shocked face.

"How do you know?" Snape asked, turning some of the dials on the camera.

"Our flat is covered with black and white photos, and none of them are posters. They're all printed from private film." Harry said simply, putting his finger under the pile of wrapping paper on the floor and shaking it. He definitely had the attention of the cat, who was crouched under the Christmas tree.

"They could have been taken by someone else." Snape responded, putting film in the camera and snapping it shut. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the cat stick her bum in the air and wiggle it. He flicked the camera on and trained it over the paper covering Harry's hand.

"Yeah, but only you would find pictures of book covers interesting." Harry yanked his hand out of the way as the cat barreled into the paper, scattering it everywhere. She stuck her head out and looked around widely as if being chased by something, and then took off toward the kitchen in a dead run.

They opened a few more presents and before long the little cat had returned to the living room and climbed into Harry's lap, where she looked like she would settle for a while. She started kneading Harry's thigh, as if to get comfortable, and Harry commented that they'd need to think of a name for her.

Snape found himself chuckling at the look of pain on Harry's face that had suddenly appeared with the kitten's loud purring. She was not only kneading Harry to make a comfortable nest, she was flexing her paws, and her nails, through Harry's thin pajama pants and into his thighs.

"I have the perfect name." Snape said, smirking at Harry's discomfort.

…..

McGonagall stopped by in the early afternoon with her Christmas wishes and a reminder to be in the Great Hall that evening for dinner.

Harry invited the Headmistress in, offering her some mulled wine as Snape chased the cat out from under the tree yet again. She had discovered that by climbing the inside of the tree, she had a better chance at swiping ornaments off of it. Upon spying the new visitor, the little devil ran over to McGonagall to scent her out.

"What a cute wee thing! I never expected either of you to get a cat, to be honest." Snape smirked as the cat eyed Minerva with a calculated look. He was quite certain what she was about to do.

"Snape got her for me, he knew I always wanted a pet. She's a bit hyper." Harry grinned, watching the cat's tail twitch.

"Ah they all are as kittens. What's her…name?" There was a pause on the word 'name' as Minerva's breath hitched. The kitten had decided that she wanted to be up close and personal with the lady who smelled vaguely of cat, and had begun to climb Minerva's dress, claws fully extended.

"Sadie." Snape answered with mirth in his eyes. "Short for Sadist."

"Yes, well. I would normally frown upon such a name," Minerva said as she plucked the cat from her robes and held her up to her face, "but it seems fitting for a cat belonging to you two."

Harry took Sadie back and put her on the floor, again charming a bow to dance around. Sadie instantly took off after it, pouncing so fast that she nearly tripped over her own paws.

"I'll leave you gentlemen to enjoy your afternoon, but a small warning. The Daily Prophet has invited itself for a short visit to the castle after dinner, intending to interview the students that are left here about their first Christmas without You know Who." She looked sternly between Harry and Snape; her expression softening into humour as Harry suddenly winced. Sadie had decided that Harry's toes were equally as fun as the ribbon to attack.

"Are you asking us to behave in front of the Prophet, Minerva?" Snape asked, his voice silky and failing to sound completely innocent.

"Just don't hex any of them." McGonagall replied, before slipping out the door quick enough to avoid Sadie's pounce.

…..

Dinner in the Great Hall was as magnificent as it had been in years before, but there was a distinct lack of tension in the air that Harry knew was from the overhanging fear of Voldemort. He had managed to snag himself a seat next to Snape, though it hadn't been difficult as none of the other staff wished to sit there.

Christmas turkey, sweet potatoes, carrots, beans, glazed ham, freshly baked dinner rolls, all appeared at the table with flourish, and with a rare smile, Snape tucked into his meal. He was ignoring the photographer in the corner, the ones from the paper that had arrived early. Harry seemed to be ignoring them as well, but was working hard to distract Snape by sending lewd thoughts along their ring communication.

The silence was broken by the sound of a flash bulb from the camera going off at random intervals, Snape muttering curses under his breath towards the photographer, and the chatter of the students at the other end of the table. The Slytherins were arguing over a quidditch team, and the other two students were discussing which song of The Weird Sisters was the best one. After a few minutes the front door to the hall opened and Sybil Trelawney entered, looking as if she'd stuck a fork inside a muggle electric socket.

Snape, determined to have a bit of fun through the dinner instead of just suffering through it as he normal had in the past, allowed himself an unhidden snort.

"How kind of you to join us, Sybil." He stated mildly, watching with amusement as she stared at him like he'd offered her poison to drink.

"Thank you, Severus." She replied, sitting at the only open spot at the table, directly across from him. "I saw myself eating dinner in the Hall this evening, and so hastened to make my way here." She reached across the table to take a drumstick; not noticing when half of her gaudy lace sleeve strung it's way through the caramelized carrots.

"And we're so very grateful for that." Hooch commented wryly, watching the mess she made.

"I was also told to be here to give a warning to someone. I'm afraid that the Inner Eye does not always provide news that we want."

She looked directly at Harry as she said this, but he ignored her completely and instead took a large bite of sweet potato.

"Severus." Sybil said in an eerily disconnected voice. He supposed it was to make her sound ominous, but instead Snape got the feeling she had been imbibing a little before coming down to dinner.

"You will be plagued by an exuberant spirit, a small sprite that will follow you for years to come!" She sounded worked up by the prediction, and the reporter in the corner was hanging onto every word. Snape raised his arm and took a long drink of his wine, looking disinterested by the prediction.

"Severus, what happened to your hand?" Slughorn asked before Trelawney could continue, pointing to the angry scratches.

Harry's face blushed a bit, but Snape smirked.

"The little sprite, otherwise known at Potter's cat." Snape answered, his lips twitching when he saw Trelawney fail to cover her shock at getting a prediction correct.

"Harry, my boy, you have a cat?" Slughorn looked surprised but Harry just shrugged.

"Little Sadist." Snape muttered loudly, before Harry had the chance to say anything.

Hooch laughed, having refilled her wine glass. "It's just a cat, Severus, maybe you were teasing it."

"No, that's her name. We-I call her Sadie for short." Harry replied, with a blushing grin. He put his hands up on the table and pulled his sleeves back, exposing similar scratch marks on his hands.

The Prophet photographer moved closer, itching to hear more about the cat and see if Potter would allow pictures of it.

"She is a bit of a handful." Minerva commented lightly, ignoring that the students were now staring at the professors as they followed the conversation.

"She's cute!" Harry protested, suddenly defensive of Sadie. She'd run around like a mad hatter all afternoon before suddenly passing out in their bed.

"Of course she is, Potter. She's the spawn of the devil, no doubt." Snape sat back in his chair, having taken his fill of dinner.

"I didn't realize you visited Harry, Severus." Slughorn commented, reaching for a second helping.

"Santa doesn't deliver poison, no matter how nicely you ask." Snape answered calmly, barely flinching when Harry shoved him.

The two Slytherins at the end of the table smirked and tugged at a Christmas cracker, setting off a canon-sized boom to echo in the hall. Trelawney was so startled that she dropped her glass of sherry all over the table.

"Two of you will be married!" She gasped, looking demented with her glasses almost off her nose, a wet sleeve from the carrots and a damp red stain from the sherry on her robes. The table all stopped dead and turned to look at her, though she didn't make eye contact with anyone. "In January, two of the staff will be married and living as kings."

"Princes, actually." Snape said under his breath, causing Harry to sputter on his drink.

"Sybil, I believe we could do without your Inner Eye at the dinner table." Minerva said, almost keeping the sarcasm out of her voice. Trelawney didn't notice.

"Minerva, my dear, had my Inner Eye been consulted at the beginning of this war, loyalties could have been proven without all this fuss."

She spoke of the fuss as if the war had been only a trivial thing that had occupied the time of those without the grace of being a Seer. Snape snorted to himself, catching the attention of the reporters and Trelawney.

"Forgive me Sybil, I did not see you nor your Inner Eye at the final battle. Though I heard that you had finally put those crystal balls of yours to good use." Snape raised his wine glass in a mock toast, and Trelawney didn't know whether she'd been complimented or insulted.

"No surprise you didn't see her, you were a bit busy in the Shrieking Shack, dying and all." Harry snickered.

"Is the Boy Who Died mocking me for getting attacked by that bloody snake?" Snape raised his eyebrow and the reporter inched closer. A fight between Potter and Snape would surely be amusing and popular for the paper.

"I would never." Harry replied, offering his Christmas cracker for Snape to help him with. Another boom went off and out of the cracker came a small wizard's chess set. The other crackers started going off, and the reporter was disappointed at Potter's failure to rise to the bait.

"Mr. Potter?" the reporter broke through the silence. "How have you been finding life after defeating You Know Who?"

"Quiet." Harry said nothing else, and Snape sent a word of encouragement through his ring.

"Yes, quiet, it seems you've been avoiding the Wizarding word. You've not spoken much about You Know Who after the war."

"I didn't go to the funeral, if that's what you mean. But I wrote a letter to the paper saying I approved of it." Harry said with a smirk, refusing to let the reporter annoy him.

"Did you now?" Minerva asked, picking through the chocolate witches hats that had come out of her cracker.

"I did. What I didn't do, however, is agree to an interview." Harry stood up and took a cupcake to bring back to the flat. He nodded to everyone and then turned to glance at Snape, who was putting a large slice of cake on his plate.

"Snape, I hope you choke on that. Goodnight all." Harry made his way out the front door, not stopping to give the photographer or reporter another glance.

….

The classroom was deadly silent and Snape reveled in the sound of ladles scraping against cauldrons as the mixtures were stirred. He noted from where he was standing four different potions that he knew would turn out wrong. His peace was interrupted not fifteen minutes before the end of class by a timid knock on the heavy wooden door. Inquisitive faces looked up, but a quick scowl and glare around the room set their attentions back to the brews.

"Enter." His voice was even and demanding.

The door opened and a very young messenger entered. From the looks of his robes Snape could tell he was from a foreign ministry of magic, and when he spoke, the Welsh accent confirmed it.

"I have a delivery for Professor S. Prince, sir." Snape had never taught this man, but he had the good grace to be terrified to be in Snape's presence. Snape had been leaning against the dungeon wall with his arms crossed, but upon hearing his name he sighed and stalked towards the messenger. Snape held out his hand and accepted the quill and scroll.

"Fine. Where do I sign?" He ignored the baffled students, who were watching with unhidden curiosity. Taking the offered envelope, he stored it quickly in one of the pockets of his robes. Watching the messenger dig through his bag for something else, Snape realized a moment too late what the next question would be.

"Er, do you know where I could find the other Professor…"

"Just leave his with me." Snape barked, causing the messenger and the class jump.

"I would, sir, but I'm required to give it only to him." The messenger looked like he'd give anything to be able to leave it with Snape and flee the room.

"Do you not understand the connection, and it's conveniences?" Snape's sneer was his usual one, and he slowly tugged his sleeve up, resting his left hand crossed over his right arm. The glint of the silver and white gold entwined ring was suddenly very visible. They'd charmed both rings to look similar to engagement rings until the wedding. He tapped his ring finger notably on his arm, and more than the messenger's gaze followed. A few quiet gasps were escaped the very few observant students.

"Ye…yes Professor Prince. But it's charmed, and he must sign for it." The messenger waved his hands to show they were tied. Snape figured it best to keep him quiet before anything else was revealed.

"Very well." His tone was cold and calculating. " Sit and be quiet for ten minutes. At lunch, we will go find him."

The rest of the lesson passed painfully slow, and Snape felt every curious glance sent his way. He knew that by dinnertime that every student would be gossiping about him.

As it turned out, he had underestimated the chattering in the Great Hall. After the lesson, he had warded the doors and sent a quick message through their rings for Harry, who'd received his letter with very little fanfare, and no student had been able to see who the other Professor Prince was. Snape had been annoyed that such a fuss had been made over a name change form for the wedding, but the Welsh officials were rather strict about paperwork.

At dinner however, he decided that either the secret would have to come out soon, or he'd start hexing students. He plunked down in his customary seat beside Harry, and started serving himself from the food platters. Harry poured him some goblin made wine, before starting on his own food.

"Have you heard the rumors?" Snape muttered, glaring at the watching students.

"I have indeed." Harry answered, eating dinner thoughtfully and ignoring the front row murmurs. Beside him, Sprout was eyeing them suspiciously. Snape watched Harry grab for his goblet of wine, and noted that at least Harry's ring was still invisible.

"Severus, I have set detention for four students today, for taking bets regarding the identity of your, well, partner. " Minerva sounded uncomfortable, and Harry wondered if she could see the blush on his face that he felt.

Hooch confirmed the same betting pool during flying lessons, and Snape kept his face without emotion, save for nodding in thanks. Harry waited until it was quiet before commenting.

"Really? You punished them? I put ten galleons down on someone myself."

The speculation discussions in the great hall exploded in fever a few seconds after that comment, when the head table erupted in laughter at the same time that Professor Snape loudly smacked Professor Potter across the back of the head.

…..

At the staff meeting later that evening all the professors sat in the cozy and warm staffroom. Harry was relaxed in the leather chair next to Snape, looking bored and gazing off in the distance. Snape sat in a more relaxed posture than normal, pondering which type of tea to make and what on earth to say about their upcoming marriage. Madame Pomfrey broke the ice first.

"This is unacceptable behaviour from the students! To be betting on a teacher's private life!" Pomfrey was annoyed, and from experience Snape knew it was best to let her get it all out before interrupting.

"And to think they're saying you're married to someone on staff!" She looked embarrassed at this outburst, but Snape merely quirked his lips up in a small smile. The usual malice behind it was lacking, and it startled Pomfrey.

"Indeed. How unfortunate that the rumor mill of dim witted students manages to almost hit upon the truth." His hands were resting in his lap, the ring once again very visible. The kettle boiled, and Harry jumped up to make tea. He prepared two mugs, biting his lip to stop from laughing at Trelawney, who was claiming her triumph from the Christmas dinner prophecy.

Minerva, however, was tight lipped and threatening to make Snape head of Slytherin house again if he didn't explain further. Harry came back to the table, placing a steaming mug in front of Snape before squeezing his shoulder. Neither man said anything though, instead just smirked at the gasps from the other staff members.

"I trust you'll all congratulate these two idiots on finally getting along, and please keep this under wraps until they're ready to announce to everyone." Minerva finally commented, a knowing smile on her face.

Through the congratulations that were suddenly echoed in the room, no one heard the stuttering of disbelief from one of the portraits in the far corner.


	16. Ch 16 The Night Brew

N: I have completely made these pub names up, sorry, they don't exist. I wish they did. Thanks for the reviews though. :D And no, story is still not done yet. :)

The Night Brew

Snape never did much to celebrate his birthday; as for years his father had made sure it was a day that Snape knew was not special. And so, as he celebrated his 39th birthday, Snape sat in his favourite armchair by the fire of their flat in Hogwarts, sipping a hot chocolate that Harry had laced liberally with Baileys. He had never liked birthdays, but today had been not only unpainful, but had actually been…pleasant. Harry had stepped in on his potions classes on the pretense of doing repair work for McGonagall, which had the effect of silencing the students from sabotaging each other's work.

When he'd woken up this morning he'd found all his clothes for the day freshly laundered and scented lightly with the same garden scents of Cairn Hollow. The bathroom had been fully stocked with brand new toiletries in Snape's old spice blend, the towels were brand new and the softest that Snape had ever felt. When he'd gone into the kitchen, Snape found that breakfast was waiting for him at his spot, a fresh croissant that looked like it'd come from France that morning and fresh cloudberry jam that he loved. Harry had already gone to class, but there were little tokens from him all over the apartment.

Leaning up against his chair was a brand new curling broom, with a green bow attached to it. Snape inspected the bow and snorted when he saw teeth marks in it, apparently Sadie had taken a liking to it. He looked over to the glass windows, where the little devil was passed out in a patch of sunshine on the floor. There was another small package on the table, which Snape unwrapped to find a photo of him and Harry together at Cairn Hollow. It was framed in a simple wooden frame, and Snape put it up on the bookshelf. He left the flat with a lighter step than normal.

On his way to class Snape had found a note in his robe pocket, an ingredient list for a particularly warm lubricant potion. He had to force his face into a frown when he entered the room, and he wondered with a slight twitch of his lips how many students would recognize the potion if he set it to their task for the day.

At lunch, Snape found that his plate was filled without him, with his favourite salmon fillet and baby herb potatoes, and he had a nice chilled white wine in his goblet, though it looked like water from the outside of his glass. He smiled at Minerva while he drank, throwing her off guard. She had no idea it was wine, and Harry was being particularly quiet throughout the meal.

During his afternoon break between classes, Snape found a small tray in his office with a cold bottle of root beer, and a slice of rich chocolate cake. There was a brand new issue of Potions Monthly, along with a note that it had been paid for for the next year, He glanced around the room and noticed that his quills had been replaced by newer ones, his ink bottles all looked brand new, the box of rolled parchment that had been looking sparse before was now full, and his books that had been haphazardly stacked on the desk were now carefully lined up. Potter had been in the office rather early. Snape had smiled to himself, a real smile that he only usually allowed when in private, and withdrew a small piece of folded parchment from his pocket. It was small and worn, the strong creases in it from being folded and unfolded plenty of times. The edges of the parchment were worn almost smooth from handling, but the ink had not run on it, merely faded a little. Snape took one of his brand new quills and loaded it with ink, before skimming down the list. He took a deep breath and crossed off one of the items near the bottom, that he thought never would have been touched.

_Be taken care of._

…

Later that evening, after Harry had spent an hour mapping every inch of Snape's body with his tongue and leaving the older man rather boneless, Snape managed to form a coherent sentence.

"You know," He murmured, running his hand through Harry's messy hair. "I thought last year would be my last birthday."

Harry had stayed quiet for a moment, petting Sadie's head where she'd curled up on Harry's pillow. They'd tried to dissuade her from coming into the bedroom for their private time, but the cat was either a voyeur or remarkably blasé.

"I suppose this is your first birthday." Harry replied, closing his eyes and curling an arm over Snape's stomach. Neither man commented on how close to the truth Harry's statement was.

"I received a letter from young Mr. Malfoy today." Snape suddenly remembered, humour sounding in his voice.

"Oh? Last I heard he'd been exiled to France with his parents." Harry traced circles around Snape's stomach muscles, causing them to quiver slightly. Snape smacked his hand away, unwilling to admit he was ticklish.

"He still is." Snape sneered, remembering how difficult it had been to show favouritism to the conceited brat in school.

"That's not very nice you know." Harry laughed, shifting himself so his head rested between Snape's shoulder and his pillow, which had been completely stolen by Sadie.

"Schadenfreude." Snape responded, a smirk still on his lips.

"Bless you." Harry said, with a puzzled look on his face. Sadie stretched and stuck her paw on Harry's forehead like she owned it.

"It's a German word, you uncivilized lout. It means to take pleasure in the pain of others."

"It sounds like a Snape word. And you call me uncivilized." Harry huffed in mock indignation. "What did Malfoy want, anyway?"

Harry heard a rather unsettling series of small pops and cracks as Snape stretched his legs and feet out, before pulling the blanket up over them.

"He heard about the betting pool that's going on, the one the students started over my significant other." Snape rolled his eyes over the last two words. "Apparently he's threatening to write a reveal all book about my time served under the Dark Lord. Have it published, paint me in a bad light."

"That's slander." Harry said, curious that Snape didn't seem annoyed by the threat at all.

"It is. He's never been particularly bright when he had to plan things himself."

"Do you think he'll try to get it published?" Harry asked, flicking off the light with his wand.

"I do believe so. As I said, not particularly bright, little sense of foresight."

"I have an idea. Leave it to me." Harry finally said, and Snape heard the smirk in his voice.

"Bloody hero complex." Snape yawned, curling over to lie on his side. "Don't get me arrested, boy."

…

"What about Flitwick?"

"I don't know, they get along but I've never seen them be overly friendly." Ron was sitting at the back of the Gryffindor table with Ginny, whom he was pretending to have come visit at Hogwarts. George had arrived as well, citing the poor January weather as a reason to visit.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he doesn't consider Hagrid his best friend." Ginny replied, rolling her eyes.

"Put them on the list anyway. Slughorn?" George asked, looking up at the staff table. Slughorn was currently talking the ear off of Professor Sprout, who appeared to have stopped paying attention quite a while ago.

"No, he won't shut up the entire night and he'll make it all about himself." Ron said, a small smirk on his face. "We should introduce him to Lockhart."

Ginny laughed at that and they helped themselves to dessert. From the back of the room they were free to talk a little louder and not be overheard by anyone at the staff table.

"Thank god Harry told me that Snape hates Filch." George said after a second, causing them all to look at the side table where Filch was and visibly shudder.

"We should probably ask Dumbledore. He'd know Snape best." Ginny yawned, sitting back a bit on the bench having taken her fill of the meal.

"Dunno about that, Gin. Harry's not too happy with Dumbledore's puppeteering in the war, and I don't think Snape is either." Ron pointed out.

"Can't hurt to ask." George shrugged. "How's your other task going?"

Ron shrugged. "I might need to take Hermione with me. She can explain the ritual better, plus he might still remember me and I don't think that's a good thing."

"He'd definitely remember George, so no luck there." Ginny grinned. "And besides, you've got your own task too, and Mom will start harping you…"

"Yeah yeah." George interrupted with a sly grin. "I'll go down to the Hogs Head on Sunday."

Up at the staff table Snape took another sip of his tea as his eyes swept the Hall. Harry, though sitting beside him, was eating quietly and not saying a word as he studied the students around him.

"Your friends are planning something." Snape said, not turning to look at Harry. The three flaming red heads at the back of the hall were hard to miss, and neither Snape nor Harry were fooled by George and Ron suddenly deciding to visit their little sister.

"They're always up to something." Harry acknowledged with a small smile. "They're not very subtle about it, though."

"Is this related to the list item we discussed this morning?" Snape asked, ignoring Sinistra's questioning glance.

"Oh, most likely." Harry replied, fighting a grin.

They each swept off to their own classes under watchful eyes, and no more than twenty minutes later Minerva McGonagall found herself being visited by two persistent Weasley males. She let them into the office with a stern look that abated once she'd heard their request. Behind the desk in one of the portraits hung the picture of Albus Dumbledore, who though feigning sleep, was fully awake and listening into the conversation.

His fake sleep lasted all of three seconds when Minerva poked the portrait with her wand.

"Stop pouting Albus, and help us with the wedding."

"What is it that you would like, Minerva?" Dumbledore drew himself up tall in the portrait, and looked over his glasses at Ron and George.

"Sir, we were wondering who Snape's friends were, when he was at school here." Ron offered, trying to ease the tension between the current Headmistress and the old Headmaster.

"I'm afraid that Severus never had many friends at school. I believe the acquaintances he had all became death eaters." Dumbledore's voice was a little sad but he held their gaze. "Except for Lily."

George shuddered at this, but didn't draw back.

"You were like family to him, weren't you sir?"

"I tried, Mr. Weasley. I fear I did not succeed." George gave him a little half smile, and Ron desperately thought of something to change the conversation with. He was used to a strong but slightly crazy Dumbledore, with twinkling blue eyes and an air of knowing madness around him. This defeated Dumbledore was not a change he liked.

"I don't know about that." Ron said, with a smile. "After all, you've been invited to the wedding. Er, your portrait." His face flushed red and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Yes, I suppose I have been." Dumbledore smiled at them again, but it didn't reach his eyes. Minerva gave a little cough, catching the attention of Ron and George.

"Ignore him, he's moping because he didn't know that Severus and Harry even tolerated each other now, never mind were dating."

Ron laughed as Dumbledore gave off an undignified humph, sounding eerily like Snape when he was annoyed by a student. Minerva gave them a small smile, and walked them to the office door.

"Misters Weasley." Minerva said with a firm tone, though her eyes betrayed her amusement. "I need my professors fully functioning come Monday morning, and we do have a reputation to uphold. Do keep that in mind."

"Yes ma'am." George saluted, and they skipped out of the office.

….

On Friday afternoon, two days after the Weasley visit and just after dinner, there was a knock on the flat door. Harry had just finished changing out of his teaching robes and went to answer it, finding his best friend standing in the doorway, dressed like a muggle rock star. George was standing beside him, also looking like some sort of famous muggle actor. Snape stood behind Harry, regarding them with a snort.

"You, good sirs, will be coming with us." George's smile was wicked, and Harry didn't see anything else as he took the offered blindfold, and found himself being portkeyed along side Snape out of the castle.

Harry knew they had landed in the living room of Grimmauld Place, and after confirming it through a thought shared along their rings, he and Snape played along with the subterfuge. Their blindfolds were taken off after a moment to reveal a room full of people, all gentlemen, all dressed like they were ready to party until arrested. And there were two outfits draped across the lounge in the room, just waiting to be changed into. Snape raised his eyebrow to Ron, who was grinning like a maniac.

Around the room Snape saw Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, both looking stunned to see him there, Neville Longbottom looking only slightly nervous, Bill Weasley dressed like he owned the town, Charlie Weasley looking like he'd just stepped off the dragon reserve (and probably had), a half drunk and very cheery Hagrid, an over excited Filius Flitwick, and a red faced Percy Weasley, who was either embarrassed to be there or had started to drink already and was flushed at the cheeks.

"Meet my fiancé." Harry grinned, pulling Snape to his side. "Severus Snape, this is Dean, Neville, Seamus, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Hagrid, and er, Filius." Harry's grin was infectious, and the meaning was clear. Fresh introductions for a fresh start.

"Enough with the boring bit." George grinned, pointing to the clothes. "It's your bachelor party, we have an appointment to keep at The Night Brew."

Twenty minutes later, Harry suddenly understood the implication of bachelor party. They had apparated as a group to an alley near The Night Brew, a dance club that played a mix of old and new songs, and featured rather acrobatic women dancing on the stage. There were huge drums set up in various spots around the club, and there were drumsticks attached to the drums, where one could hammer away in the fluorescent paint that had been poured in the drum tops. It splattered everywhere, and lit up under the blacklights of the club. Harry had never seen anything like it, and Snape snidely remarked, as he watched people with day glow orange and green spots on them go by, that he hadn't either. Not since he was a teen and had tested some homegrown mushrooms.

The music was infectious though, and after three rounds of tequila shots, paid for by Seamus and Dean, Harry felt himself relaxing and pulsing along with the beat. His face was a smattering of paint spots that had flicked onto him, and he knew he had a fingerprint or two of Snape's from where the man had traced his finger down Harry's cheek when he thought no one was looking. Even though the club wasn't fully packed, Harry found himself constantly leaning against Snape, enjoying the feel of the leather pants that Snape wore, as his fingers brushed against Snape's thighs. Snape had gone to the club disguised as Simon Prince, but Harry didn't mind. It was a muggle club, but who knew who could be lurking in the shadows.

The others in their group seemed to be having a blast as well, and Harry noticed that Neville was even getting up the nerve to ask one of the women dancing near their drum to go dance with him. Percy danced surprisingly well once he'd had enough liquor in him, and they were steadfastly pretending that Hagrid, who was drunk and trying to take control of the microphone, was not part of their group.

Snape sat back on a bar stool, sipping a rum and coke and enjoying the scene. He'd never been to a bachelor party before, but was rather happy with how theirs was progressing. Nothing embarrassing had happened yet, and Harry's friends seemed to be having a good time. Soon Snape found himself being handed another drink to replace his empty one, and strong lips kissed their way up his neck. Harry's scent, natural and similar to light spring rain, was instantly recognized by Snape, who pulled Harry to sit on his lap. The dance floor was getting busier, and they were happy to sit one out and relax. Harry draped an arm over Snape's shoulder, resting his forehead against Snape's.

"Not a bad party?"

"I've been to much worse." Snape replied, dropping his arm across Harry's upper thighs, where he knew it would drive the younger man crazy.

George danced by them, eyeing a young man who seemed to be fascinated by his dragon hide jacket.

"We were recognized when we got here." Harry stated, taking a drink from Snape's glass.

"You were recognized." Snape corrected, slipping his hand slightly up Harry's shirt, letting his fingers scratch down Harry's lower back. Harry purred and his head slipped back.

"Do you care?" Snape asked, staring at Harry's throat.

"Not anymore. Coming out is on my list." Harry answered, waiting patiently for Snape to make up his mind. It took all of three seconds, before Snape brought Harry's face to meet his and gave him a strong possessive kiss, bruising his lips against Harry's. They continued kissing with a demonic intensity, oblivious to the catcalls and whistles of Harry's friends, but not to the camera clicking furiously away from across the room.

….

Hindsight is twenty/twenty. Harry had never understood that statement as a child, though after getting glasses he figured it should have become more obvious. It wasn't though, and he'd fortunately made it through life without needing to admit his embarrassment at not understanding the catchphrase.

After the bachelor party, however, he suddenly understood exactly what that statement meant. It should have become clear when they had decided to go to The Brass Knob after leaving The Night Brew that it was perhaps not the best idea in present company. If not then, definitely by the time they entered the club and realized that it was "ladies" night, specifically drag queen ladies. But even then, Harry and Snape had willfully led their drunken comrades into the bar to party.

The line had finally been drawn around an hour earlier, at four thirty am. The moon was starting to wane and the night was impossibly chilled. They were walking up to the castle to finally tuck in for the night, most staggering, two singing horridly off key, and three shivering against the cold. Harry had stopped to offer Seamus his jacket, and when the words "Maybe it'll be easier to walk without the heels" escaped his lips, Harry recognized that maybe they'd had a little too much fun that night.

At least Charlie and Dean were better at walking in a dress.

It had taken them twenty minutes to find the room of requirement, where Harry had wished for a safe room for his friends to pass out in without being disturbed before lunch. He called Kreacher to make sure that all his friends survived for the night, and left a note stating that there would be hangover potions the next morning.

Twirling the abandoned tie he'd been wearing earlier in his hands, Harry gave Snape a seductive look, and started walking down the hall toward their flat.

When they opened their door however, thoughts of sex turned to the back burner. There, in the middle of the living room, sat Sadie. She was surrounded by paper that had been artistically shredded, twelve different books had been knocked off the shelf by the telly, four photo frames were tipped over, the remains of two Christmas ribbons looked like they'd been shoved under the couch, and Harry could see on the coffee table that there was the shredded remnants of a small plastic bag, and a strange grass like substance all over the table and floor. There was no throw rug there, because Sadie seemed to have taken personal offense to the rugs and attacked them, shoving them up into a corner.

Harry took a cautionary step toward Sadie before he noticed Peeves cackling in the corner. Sadie noticed him too, and set herself to pounce mode. Harry took a quick look at the package on the table, what was left of it, and groaned when he read the bag name.

"Cat nip."

Sadie went to pounce and Snape caught her with a quick hand before she crashed into a shelf of knickknacks. Drawing his wand with lightning reflexes, Snape stunned Peeves and glared at him with a malicious glint in his eyes. Sadie squirmed in his arms but Snape kept a tight hold on her, twirling his wand at Peeves as if considering what to do to the poltergeist.

Harry quickly banished the catnip from the apartment and started righting the things that Sadie had knocked over, laughing when Snape finally put her down. Snape had lowered Peeves to Sadie's level, and the energetic cat was swatting him around the apartment like a balloon.

"Not a bad play toy, it seems." Snape mused, with a small sneer.

….

Saturday morning brunch in the castle was a much quieter event than normal, and it was not lost on the students that most of their male professors were missing from the top table. It wasn't odd for one or two professors to be missing, but for Hagrid, Flitwick, Snape, and Potter to be gone, it garnered a lot of attention from the students. The headmistress sent pointed looks to the students and the meal continued, though the control was broken when The Daily Prophet arrived. Not many students subscribed, but from the gasps of those who did, Minerva figured that the bachelor party had been found out.

Sure enough, when she opened the Prophet, the front picture was of Harry Potter sitting on the lap of a man with dark shoulder length hair at a dance club, leaning in for a kiss. The man that Harry was with was hard to recognize, even though she knew it was Snape, the features were much softer. The face was mostly obscured though, and Minerva had the feeling that they knew pictures were being taken.

The article was rather speculative, as the pictures had been hastily taken in the club and it appeared that the author who wrote the article had had very little warning, indeed, perhaps only was given the pictures and asked to write an article. Minerva scrutinized the rest of the photos, looking to see if her wayward staff was in the background and unfortunately saw a few of them. Hagrid's large shape was visible in a blur off to the side, Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan were laughing at the table next to Harry and Snape, and Flitwick looked like he was about to juggle two beer bottles.

Minerva sighed and put the paper down, taking one last sip of her tea before sweeping out of the Hall, giving the students a firm look as she left. The walk down to Harry and Snape's flat was short, though it took five minutes of banging on the door to wake one of them. When Harry answered the door, looking disheveled and dressed in an oversize nightshirt of Snape's, Minerva considered that perhaps waking the dead was not just a figure of speech.

She followed Harry into the living room and noted a strange smell coming from the coffee table. It was a light herbal scent, and Minerva found it quite pleasant and enticing. As she sat down on the couch, Minerva found herself with a lapful of Sadie, who was wide-awake and playful, unlike her owners. Minerva unrolled the newspaper she had brought with her and handed it to Harry, not saying anything but waiting for his reaction.

While she waited, Minerva stroked Sadie's back and wondered why she felt the sudden urge to run her fingers along the coffee table. Sadie seemed to want to do the same.

When Harry saw the photos he did something that Minerva was not expecting – he burst out into laughter.

…..

Lunch was served a bit later than normal, and the Great Hall was surprisingly full of students. Very full, as if they were waiting for something. The staff table still looked as empty as it had that morning, however five minutes into the meal, the side door opened and the missing staff filed into the room. Snape walked in first, dressed fully in black and save for the circles under his eyes looking fully professional, Harry followed, dressed casually and his hair messier than normal. Hagrid lumbered in after, wearing the same clothes as the day before and smelling distinctly like 'night out', and Flitwick limped over to his spot at the table, wearing a pair of shaded reading glasses. The hall broke out into amused applause, and Harry gave a sheepish grin before sitting down.

At the back of the hall the rest of their party shuffled in, sneaking quietly over to the Gryffindor table and hoping to avoid many questions. The students completely ignored their former classmates, however, as between breakfast and lunch someone with the name of Simon Prince, who had been hidden well with a cloak, had made a substantial bet to the pot that they had running. Twenty five galleons had been put on Snape's partner being Harry Potter, but with the newspaper article, students were rushing to make changes to their bets. While no one had known that Professor Potter was attracted to males, the students knew that whomever that man was in the picture, it wasn't Professor Snape. They'd had classes with him for years, and knew that the Potions Master would never get caught in public with Harry Potter, never mind be seen kissing him.

The Potions Master sat at the head table instead, surveying the fervor he'd caused earlier by making the large bet. Students were itching to claim the prize that he'd helpfully added to, and he knew that with the photos that had been released, that less students would happen upon the correct combination for the bet. Yesterday he'd just happened to let slip in the hall to Slughorn that the big day was at the end of January, and the date had spread like wildfire through the student population.

A small brown owl swooped through the Great Hall, stopping in front of Harry and dropping off an official letter. Harry opened it to find it was a letter of acceptance from one Draco Malfoy, for the 10% forward of commissions that he'd been sent in exchange for part of his manuscript. Harry rolled his eyes when he saw the name of the book Malfoy had chosen. "The Snake Behind the Mask."

"How original." Harry muttered, folding the letter and putting it away.

"And what would that be?" Snape asked, raising his eyebrow. He was completely conscious of all the eyes on him, and acted indifferent towards Harry.

"Just a business prospect." Harry smiled, thinking of how much fun he'd have editing the manuscript later.


	17. Ch 17 Rituals Through Words

AN: I love all of you. The reviews make me smile. The next chapter will be posted hopefully by Sunday night, if not Monday. And no, neither Snape nor Harry will be lovey-dovey at the wedding. ;) I meant the wedding to be this chapter, but got a bit carried away.

Ch 17 - Rituals Through Words

The fireplace roared green, but instead of a person, it merely spit out a very thick copy of the Daily Prophet, a smaller copy of the Quibbler, a bundled manuscript with a post mark of France, four letters from his friends, and an official notice from Hogsmeade post office letting him know that there were forty-two howlers and one hundred and twenty letters waiting for him there.

Harry sat back on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and thanked the gods for the post sorting service he'd signed up for.

He opened the manuscript first, noting the flourish that Malfoy had put into his writing when he'd addressed it to Messier Henry Prince, of Litli Prinsinn, Harry's company that he'd fronted as a book publisher. Of course, calling upon a favour and having Whizz Hard Books, Obscurus Books, and Little Red Books all refusing to publish Malfoy's work and suggest his company instead had made the choice for Malfoy rather easy. Harry likened it to leading a cat where he wanted with a shiny object.

The manuscript was surprisingly well written, though the jealousy and hatred that Malfoy felt against Snape was certainly evident just under his impressively aristocratic vocabulary. Harry felt relieved, as it would make his editing work easier. He placed the manuscript with the pile of Jonathan Swift writings he'd gotten from the library, and put a disillusionment charm on the whole pile. Snape usually left his stuff alone, but it didn't hurt to take precautions.

The letters from his friends were short notes of congratulations, and one desperate plea to not release certain pictures of a certain person wearing a certain pair of very sparkly high heels. And a dress. On the evening of the bachelor party. Harry snorted and put the letter aside.

The newspapers he unrolled with a slight fluttering to his stomach, nervous energy to see the headlines. Yesterday's article had been rushed in the mad dash to get the news out, but today's article would have been well planned out and researched.

Should have been.

"BOY-WHO-LIVED GAY!" was the headline that greeted him from the Daily Prophet. At least the Quibbler had been a bit more creative in their article headline. Perhaps a bit over creative, but funny nonetheless. "Wizard Over the Rainbow" and they had drawn Harry as an odd mixture of Dorothy, the Cowardly Lion, and the Tin Man. Harry wasn't sure how insulted he should be at that. He did enjoy Voldemort under the house though, pointed toes curled up in an impressive impression of the Wicked Witch That Was Flattened.

Harry read through the articles carefully, noting that the expected leap of logic regarding the pairing of him and Snape was first mentioned in paragraph five. Nothing but speculation however, and Harry was a bit disappointed. Snape had a different name and was getting married to a guy, wedding would be next weekend, big betting pool at Hogwarts over the identity of the professor he was marrying. When he turned the page, however, Harry laughed at the pictures that stared back out at him.

They had taken the grainy photo of Snape at the club disguised as Simon and placed it next to a staff picture of Snape, stony faced with tightened lips and a glare narrowed through his eyes. They looked nothing alike, except for the shoulder length hair, but then Harry looked closer and saw that Simon's forehead was definitely the same as Snape's, and the chin was the same, and the hands – Merlin those hands. In the club picture Harry watched as Snape's hands carded through his hair, pulling it tight and positioning his head for a breathtaking kiss. The fingers were nimble yet strong, thin and slightly stained from years of potion making, wicked in their feathery light touches all over Harry's body.

Harry's body was suddenly very aware of how much it loved those fingers. Putting the papers aside, Harry stood and walked toward the bedroom, where he knew Snape would be doing a very credible imitation of Comatose-Possibly Deceased Male. Harry knew without a doubt that had Snape lived in the 1800's, he would have been buried with one of those bells attached to his coffin, for him to ring if he was accidentally pronounced dead. Even though he was an ex Death Eater, Snape had settled down into a pattern of heavily relaxed sleep since staying with Harry.

Harry, however, had plans to disturb that hard earned sleep. He entered the room and found his prey sprawled out in the middle of the bed, curtain of hair covering his face. One or two strands moved as Snape exhaled, and Harry carefully climbed on the bed, slinking over Snape. He slinked under the blankets, and with a whispered spell banished Snape's pajama pants. Snape didn't even twitch, and Harry hoped that Snape wouldn't notice the cleaning spell they always used on each other. He held his breath, but Snape just grunted at the feeling. Harry stared at his prize with a wicked grin, and then his mouth descended.

Snape's eyes flew open a minute later as he groaned loudly, a hot, wet mouth firmly encased around his cock and a wicked tongue making him see stars.

….

Half an hour later, Harry rode up the stairs to the Headmistress' office, smiling politely as he entered. The headmistress pointedly ignored Harry's flushed face and swollen lips, and instead pointed to the portrait of Dumbledore. She told him to be polite, and wished him good luck before taking her leave.

Harry leaned against the edge of the desk as he studied Dumbledore's portrait. He knew it had been hanging there since the day after Snape had killed him; he'd even talked to Dumbledore in the hours after the battle. Harry couldn't remember much of what he'd said though, as he'd been completely exhausted at the time.

Dumbledore sat quietly and watched back, seemingly waiting for Harry to start first.

"I am not mad at you." Harry finally stated, becoming slightly uncomfortable in the silence.

"That's a start." Dumbledore said, keeping his gaze. He seemed to want to say something else, but then thought better of it.

"I'm disappointed." Harry continued, feeling a bit more courageous. This was not the same man who had leveled the prophecy down on him when he was 15.

"How could you send him to die?" Harry asked, his voice wavering a little.

Whatever words Albus Dumbledore had been waiting for, those were not them.

"Pardon?" Dumbledore thought back on the past years of war, but did not remember sending anyone to his or her death.

"You sent him to die. You knew Voldemort would want the wand, and by asking him to kill you, you sent him to die. What did Severus Snape ever do to you to deserve that?"

Harry crossed his arms as he leaned against the desk, his eyes fierce with determination and…protectiveness. Dumbledore found he could not keep his gaze with Harry, a first in his many years.

"Harry, I only hope that you can forgive an old man once more." Harry scoffed slightly at this, but did not interrupt.

"I confess that I took advantage of Severus. When he first asked to join the light side, he was overcome with guilt and I wished to show him that he could wash the blood from his hands by helping in the war." Dumbledore kept his eyes trained on Harry's, and Harry could see tears sitting in the corners of them.

"Over the years he became my most trusted soldier in the fight against Voldemort, taking a larger risk with his life than anyone else in the Order. I loved him like a son, and placed my faith in him."

Dumbledore took a breath, and noted that Harry did not move a muscle. Living with Snape had changed his temper, it seemed.

"When you came to school it became obvious that Voldemort was gaining strength, and after the Triwizard tournament, I asked Severus to go back to the Death Eater meetings. I knew how dangerous they were, but after years of having Severus by my side, helping the Order, I knew he would pull through. He knew the risks, and I assumed that he would be safe. He is the most gifted occlumens I have ever met, and I knew he would be able to keep himself safe from Voldemort. I knew that he could complete any task that needed to be done to end the war."

"And what did you do to ensure his safety?" Harry asked, softly.

Dumbledore looked away, and Harry got his answer. Nothing.

"Did you think that Voldemort wouldn't kill him in the end?" Harry started, still not moving from his position.

"I had hoped that Sev…" Dumbledore was cut off before he could complete the name.

"If he survived, had you no thought as to what the rest of the world would think of him? Where he would live without being persecuted? He lived here for sixteen years before you ordered him to kill you. This was his home, where he felt safest. And you made him shed blood here, you made him live here after you were gone, after the only father figure he had ever had abandoned him."

Harry's voice was cold, and Dumbledore was eerily reminded of a conversation in the September before the war had ended, when Snape had leaned against the desk in very much the same pose, and had accused him of using Harry as a means to an end.

"Worst of all, you let him believe that he was only important for this bloody war. He knew that for all your planning, you didn't have a safe way out for him. He fully expected not to survive." Harry finished, before standing up straight.

Dumbledore had absolutely nothing to say. He'd been so occupied about planning to leave the wand where Harry could get it, to leave the stone so Harry could summon the courage to end…oh blast. Harry did not like to be kept in the dark, and he'd not even told the boy all that time he was alive that Harry was to die by Voldemort's hand.

No wonder they had been reluctant to talk to him.

"I did not want him to be killed." Dumbledore finally said, sadness in his voice.

"But you didn't try to prevent it. Sometimes…" Harry pressed, wanting to make a point, "it's not just trust in a person that makes them feel loved. Sometimes it's a little thing, like a simple gesture of taking care of them."

Dumbledore did hold Harry's gaze this time, and he wondered at how old the young man really was.

"Harry, I'm sorry."

"I know you are." Harry waved his hand, knowing how tired Dumbledore was. "You had a lot on your plate. It will take him longer to forgive, though."

Dumbledore nodded and gave Harry a small smile. He suddenly felt a slight burst of energy – he had a very long apology to write.

"I'll see you at the wedding on Saturday." Harry smiled back, and then left the office.

…

The following Friday was a slow day at school, as a wicked snowstorm had given cause for the cancellation of morning classes. Classes could have gone on, but Minerva had kicked the students outside to burn off some energy by playing in the snow, or to their common rooms to catch up on work. Harry had wholeheartedly agreed with this idea.

He was catching up on one of his own tasks as well, his wedding vows that he was to say to Snape tomorrow. Harry's breath caught in his throat at that, he couldn't believe the day was almost upon them already. He'd already flipped through Snape's collection of old movies, finding a few examples of weddings and vows that were completely unsuitable for him to use. What he needed was more examples to work off of, more inspiration.

He'd already been bitten by Snape's desk drawer trying to find Snape's vows, so Harry reluctantly pulled a large volume on wizarding traditions over, wondering how on earth he'd be able to promise the greasy git that he wanted to stand by his side for the rest of his life.

An hour later Snape eyed him curiously as he passed through the living room to the front door of the flat, where a soft knock could be heard. Harry ignored the look, knowing that Snape was always suspicious when he was studying something.

Snape let Daniel McRua in and Harry half listened as they discussed the latest films to be coming out to cinema. Daniel had come to collect a few movies from Harry and Snape's collection, as tomorrow during the wedding the prefects would be holding a movie night in the house common rooms while the teachers all attended the ceremony. Harry finished scratching out words on his most recent composition, but paused when he heard McGonagall's name.

"It's a mite strange to see, to be honest." Daniel said, shifting the pile of movies in his hand. "I know she likes that hat of hers, but this is a bit much."

"What precisely is she doing with the hat?" Snape's eyebrow was raised and Harry could feel his quick glances over to the desk where he was sitting.

"Well, she…she rubbed it you see. Against her chin like a security blanket." Daniel's cheeks showed a slight tinge of red, which darkened when Harry failed to completely conceal his snort of laughter.

"Potter, what have you done now?" Snape stared directly at him, knowing that Harry was more than likely behind this strange behaviour.

"I may have rubbed catnip on the hat." Harry tried to sound like that was a completely innocent thing to do.

Daniel laughed outright and Sadie stalked into the room, hacking up what appeared to be a large fly. Snape crossed his arms slowly and Harry tossed his quill down to the desk.

"Oh come on. She made me try on suits and robes for four hours. You're just put out because you didn't do it first."

"I assure you Potter, I would be much more creative than merely rubbing catnip on a hat." Snape's upper lip twitched and Harry knew he was trying not to smile.

Daniel saw it as a great time to retreat. "Right-o. Never getting on your bad side. Cheers for the movies!"

Daniel made a hasty exit and Snape warded the door closed. He stalked over to the desks and pulled out a roll of essays that were waiting to be marked, giving Harry a slight squeeze on the shoulder as he passed.

Harry waited until Snape had sat down before asking about something he'd read in the book.

"Did you know there's a spell that you can say when you get married, and it'll completely bond the two wedded? So that if one dies..."

"No." Snape's hand had frozen mid mark with the quill, and his full attention was on Harry.

"You didn't even let me finish the sentence!" Harry blurted, shoving the book forward on the desk.

"I don't need to. We will not be doing that." Snape replied in an even tone, his eyes not leaving Harry's.

"What if I want to? Or does my opinion no longer matter?" Harry's anger was quickly flashing, and he wasn't sure why he was getting so emotional. Pre-wedding nerves, probably.

"Quit acting like a bratty bride. It's unbecoming. And we will not be doing that spell." Snape carefully put the quill down, and watched as Harry pushed his chair back and stood up angrily.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because, Potter, you're young enough to still have a life after me." Snape kept himself calm, but he knew it wouldn't take much for him to snap and start yelling too.

"Oh, perfect Snape. I can't wait. Wake up in a huge bed by myself, luxury. Come down the stairs to the kitchen in Cairn Hollow and eat as much as I want for breakfast, perfect. Sit on the back porch and watch the sun rise in deathly silence, brilliant. I can't fucking wait!"

Harry stomped off to the bedroom, ignoring Sadie's annoyed meows.

"Potter, what the hell has gotten into you?" Snape followed him and saw that Harry had thrown himself on the bed, evidently trying to suffocate himself with a pillow.

"I don't want to be left behind! I fucking hate it! You can be all smug and talk to me about life going on and that I can still have something to live for because it's not you that will be alone. It's not you that will be the one of us to survive. I can't be Collins." Harry was partially yelling into the pillow, but Snape heard him clearly.

"You might choke on a chicken bone a week from now and it will be me who is left alone." Snape deadpanned, poking Harry's butt to get him to shift so Snape could sit down.

"Fuck off, I'm being serious."

"I can tell. You keep swearing."

Harry lifted his head to glare at Snape, tears glistening in his eyes. "Why don't you want to do this? The real reason, not the _You Must Go on Harry_ crap."

"I never said your name." Snape narrowed his eyes, and then said it anyway. "Harry, I am not a nice man. I have done many wrong things in my past. If I die, most people will just blink at the passing of another Death Eater. Some will remark that I had the balls to spy against Voldemort, but I'll still be gone. And most people will think good riddance." Snape looked away and cleared his throat.

"I have always been fine with that. Now, however, I find myself being selfish, knowing that someone will have a reason to miss me after I am dead."

"You want me to stay behind to mourn you." Harry stated, clenching the pillow in his hand and contemplating suffocating Snape with it.

"It would give me absolution." Snape said carefully, before giving Harry's back a small rub and standing up. He went to leave the room to collect his thoughts again, pausing enough at the door to assert once more that no, they were not doing that spell.

…

Harry walked into the side chamber where he was to spend the next hour before the ceremony, and was startled by the man who was standing by the window, staring out over the quidditch pitch. He was dressed up in a black suit, hair neatly trimmed, and shoes looking new and non-scuffed. He looked distinctly out of place, but Harry would have recognized him anywhere.

"Dudley!" Harry blurted, flabbergasted. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Dudley turned to face him, and he could see that over the past year and a half Dudley had worked himself into respectable shape, and had also lost the insolent and surly teenage look that he'd had about him for as long as Harry could remember.

"Ah, your friends are very persuasive." Dudley replied, with a sheepish grin.

"Oh hell. What have they done to you now?" Harry ran his fingers nervously through his hair and stepped closer to inspect that his cousin was unharmed.

"No, no. They just talked. And Rob, is that his name? He apologized for the toffee candy from a few years back." Dudley held up his hands to show he was fine.

"Ron." Harry laughed, remembering how large Dudley's tongue had grown. "Bad sense of humour his brothers had." Harry plunked down on the small chesterfield that was in the room, and took one of the sandwiches that was on the platter in front of them. The room had been outfitted with a light buffet to tide them over until the wedding dinner, as well as providing all the necessary items to dress Harry up for the ceremony.

"Had?" Dudley asked uncertainly, while inspecting the jug of juice on the table.

"Fred was killed in the war." Harry said, without much emotion. It had taken a long time to be able to say Fred's name without tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm..I'm sorry. Ron told me a bit about what happened, but I think he glossed over some details. And your other friend didn't stop talking about the wedding and some ritual I had to take place in."

"It's pumpkin juice, it's safe to drink. Girl with thick brown hair?" Harry asked with a smile, imagining his two best friends capturing Dudley and talking him into going to a magic castle for his cousin's wedding. His cousin's gay wedding.

"Yeah. She kept talking about research and how for a proper wizard wedding that someone from the family must be there to give the groom over. Or something like that. She talked a lot."

Dudley had finally taken a seat and was munching on a sandwich. He'd tried the juice, but it was definitely something one had to get used to.

"She does, yeah. But, er, thanks for coming." Harry looked reflectively at his own drink, feeling more relaxed than he had this morning. He never thought it would be nice to have Dudley there.

"Kreacher!" Harry suddenly blurted, startling his cousin. The little house elf popped into the room a moment later, giving his master a glare.

"Master Harry wishes to interrupt Kreacher's cleaning of Cairn Hollow?" There was a glint of mirth in the elf's eye, and Harry snorted.

"You've been spending too much time around Snape. I think Dudley would like something else to drink; can you bring us some fruit juice instead? And butterbeer."

Dudley stared at the creature with a mixture of shock and curiosity, before nodding in thanks as it disappeared again.

"Is that the same one the funny old man brought to our house?"

"Yeah. He likes me now though. Most of the time." Harry stood up and walked over to the changing screen, where his wedding suit was hanging up. It was a charcoal grey three piece suit in the same cut and style as those from the 1940's, with a smart vest that Harry secretly loved and a dark green bowtie. The colour was chosen to accentuate Harry's eyes, or so Hermione had claimed when she'd added it to the pile at the clothier.

"So." Dudley coughed, looking a bit uncomfortable. "In your world getting married to another bloke is …well, it's norm…I mean I didn't know you were…"

Kreacher popped back into the room and refilled the table with fruit juice and a few bottles of cold butterbeer, as well as a fresh batch of treacle tart.

"I wouldn't have mentioned it at Privet Drive, Dudley." Harry chuckled, fingering the strong material of the suit. "It's not as prejudiced against in our world, no. But the majority of witches and wizards are straight."

"Are there the same kind of well, kinks for your group as there is in my world? Like the leather stuff, the whips and chains…"

"I don't know, really. I'm not interested in those." Harry shrugged, checking his watch. He'd have to start getting ready soon. "Why?"

"Uh, well. That bloke you're marrying, he seems to be a bit dominating." Dudley grinned, enjoying making his cousin uncomfortable.

Kreacher chose that moment to speak up, in a bored tone.

"Master Harry much prefers to be take…"

"Finish that sentence and live to regret it." Harry growled, whipping his wand out and pointing it at Kreacher. Dudley laughed as the blasted house elf disapparated, after smirking knowingly at Harry.

"You're pretty quick on the draw." Dudley commented, sounding impressed by Harry's reaction.

"I learned fast." Harry replied with a bit of cheek, before stepping behind the curtain to start changing his slacks.

"That guy was really hell bent on killing you, wasn't he?" Dudley asked, attempting to sound nonchalant but letting a bit of uncertainty show through his voice.

"Since my first year, actually." Harry cheerfully called back, purposefully keeping his tone light. "And well when I was a baby, of course."

"What happened in your first year?" Dudley prompted; a bit more relaxed and eager to hear stories about Harry's life at the school his parents had refused to talk about.

"Ah, well when I was playing quidditch someone hexed my broomstick to make me fall off, hoping to kill me in the fall. Snape saved me." Harry grunted, pulling the pants around until they fell properly on his hips. Dudley passed him an undershirt from the side table.

"Cheers."

"What's quidditch?"

"A sport played on brooms, I'll show you later. Oh, and at the end of the year Voldemort tried to kill me using the body of a professor here. Tried to strangle me, I think. I don't remember much of it."

Dudley shook his head and processed that information. "Anything happen in your second year?"

"Yep. I got attacked by a basilisk someone had set loose about the castle, in an attempt to kill muggle born students. A basilisk is a huge 40 foot – shirt please – snake that can kill you with it's glare. Literally. I was the only one who heard it slithering through the halls, talking about killing people. I can talk to snakes, I don't remember if I told you."

Harry stopped babbling for a minute to sit in the chair and put his dress socks on, which Dudley had brought round. He was amused by the look of amazement on his cousin's face.

"You set the snake on me at the zoo!" Dudley sputtered, sounding more surprised than angry.

"I did not!" Harry replied, throwing a balled up sports sock at Dudley. "I was talking to it though." He continued, musing.

"That's really weird. Like something out of a comic book." Dudley passed him cufflinks.

"It's very rare in the Wizarding world. Left over from when Voldemort marked me with this scar. I thought I'd lose the ability when I killed him, but I'm glad I can still talk to them."

"Huh. Talking to snakes…" Dudley muttered to himself as he watched Harry attach the emerald green and brass cufflinks. "Third year?"

Harry blushed at this, and drew his wand to change the cufflinks.

"Third year was an accident. I completely forgot that it was the full moon." He mumbled a spell and the green stones became the Hogwarts crest. "Besides, I would think that Remus would have rather eaten that rat Peter than me, but I guess when he changed he wasn't thinking clearly."

"What?" Dudley looked remarkably confused. "What does forgetting about the moon have to do with anything? And did you say a man almost ate you? That makes no sense."

"Oh, I've let a man eat me before." Harry grinned mischievously and then laughed at the look of disgust on Dudley's face. He transfigured the cufflinks again, this time to the Gryffindor lion, and continued explaining. "Only Snape. Remus was a great professor and a friend of my parents. He would never hurt me. He just forgot to take his wolfsbane potion that night, and you know, werewolves…" Harry shrugged and waved his wand carelessly as if facing a werewolf was something one did on a regular basis.

"Werewolves don't exist." Dudley stated, glad to change the topic from his cousin's sex life. "And those don't match your bowtie."

"Sure they do. Remus was one, and I know of a few others." Harry shuddered, thinking of Fenrir Greyback. Harry held up his sleeve and his bowtie. Definitely a bad match, he'd look like a Christmas fairy.

"Your teacher was a werewolf. Go on, next you'll be telling me trolls and vampires exist too." Dudley scoffed, but Harry could see that his eyes were sparkling with the kind of joy that a child had after being assured that Santa did exist.

"Trolls are remarkably stupid. Ron and I knocked one out in first year, in the girl's washroom. I don't recommend fighting one, they stink." Harry grinned at his cousin, flashing his teeth. "And vampires do exist." His fangs slowly grew, pointing with very sharp tips down toward his bottom lip.

Dudley gasped and backed away so fast that he nearly tripped into the side table that was against the wall. Harry burst out in laughter, doubling over in the seat.

"It's a spell Big D." Harry finally got out, retracting his teeth and showing his cousin his mouth. "I'm not a vampire, it's just a spell to make my teeth grow like that for fun. Snape taught me it."

"You're a foul prat, you know that?" Dudley finally said, still keeping his distance from Harry. "I'll bet Snape's a vampire. He sure looks like one." Dudley muttered, smoothing out the crinkles in his pants.

"He's not. I used to think he was too, but turns out he's a good guy. Tried to save me from the werewolf, and the dementors that came later that night."

Dudley shuddered, remembering very clearly the dementors that he'd experienced that one summer day.

"He seems to save your arse a lot, Harry." He sat back in the chair across from Harry and took an experimental sip of the butterbeer. It was sweet and smelled very pleasing, and he knew his teeth were going to make him suffer later.

"That he does." Harry replied, distractedly. He changed the cufflinks once more and was finally satisfied with the design. Dudley leaned forward and grasped his cousin's wrist, checking out the little cuffs.

"Dragons? Don't tell me, your fourth year?" Another sip of the butterbeer, and he waited for the explanation.

"Ah, the Triwizard Tournament. Again, not my fault, someone else entered me hoping I'd die during the last task. The first one was to battle a dragon." He acknowledged Dudley with a nod of his own bottle. "Oh, and last year I broke out of the main Wizarding bank in London by riding on a dragon's back. I don't think Hagrid will ever forgive me for that." He grinned to himself as he remembered the half giant's jealousy, but Dudley looked slightly horrified.

"I…I didn't think dragons were safe to ride." Dudley was determined not to show his ignorance of what actually existed in this magic world.

"They're not." Harry laughed, standing up and reaching for his vest. He put it on and spun around so Dudley could tighten the clasp at the back.

"Fifth year was hard. I lost Sirius, because I didn't learn to close my mind from an attack from Voldemort. Snape tried to teach me how to do it, but we sort of had an argument."

"Your godfather, right?" Dudley handed over the bow and watched as Harry tried to tie it.

"Yeah."

"What did you fight Snape about?" Dudley scrunched his face up at Harry's bowtie. It looked like a five year old had tied it.

"I snooped through his memories when I wasn't supposed to." Harry looked sheepish and was blushing. "It was a very short argument. He threw me across the room, and yelled at me to get out. Oh, and threw a jar of cockroaches at my head."

"His memori – he threw a jar of _what _at your head?" Dudley had taken the bowtie and was trying to fix the mess Harry had made.

"Cockroaches, we use them for potions. He had taken those memories out of his head and put them in a pensieve, which is like a storage box for them. They were memories he didn't want me to see. Oh he was mad that day." Harry said the last bit more to himself.

"How on earth did you ever become friends? Never mind get to the point of getting married…" Dudley wondered, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The bowtie wasn't perfect, but it was better than before. He handed Harry the jacket.

"We found common ground." Harry said after a moment's consideration. He thought back and remembered the very first letter he'd written to Snape after finding the destruction in Sirius' room. They hadn't corresponded much, due to the risk of mail getting interception, but a lot of dust was settled in a few words.

A knock on the door startled Harry out of his musings, and he saw a blonde head poke in the room.

"Ten minutes, Harry." The voice was still dreamy, and the smile was still innocent. She disappeared, and the door closed again.

"Harry. That girl had radishes hanging from her ears." Dudley's eyebrows were raised, but he smoothed his hair back in an attempt to look neater.

"That's Luna." Harry clapped him on the back with a grin and walked over to the mirror to brush his own hair. "Try to sit next to her at the dinner. I guarantee you won't be sorry."

"I think I will do that…" Dudley pondered, straightening his own tie and looking a bit distracted. "What was that ritual Hermione was talking about?"

"I think this was at." Harry turned around and offered himself up for opinion.

"But we haven't done anything." Dudley said, looking confused.

"Do I pass inspection?" Harry asked, holding his arms out.

"Yeah, you look like a man about to take on the world." Dudley gave Harry a light punch on the shoulder, a friendly tap much much lighter than the ones he used to give when they were kids.

"The ritual, I feel calmer and less nervous. I think I was supposed to just spend the time talking to you." Harry shrugged and folded a cream coloured handkerchief to put in his pocket.

"Worked for me too." Dudley replied, and he then escorted Harry out to the corridor, where the door to the Room of Requirement awaited.


	18. Ch18 A Princely Day

AN: Thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed the story, I hope it was kept in character enough throughout. Was a bit of a challenge at the end. :) I just wanted to say for my first HP story, you guys are awesomely supportive, and thanks for all the reviews! There's another small note at the bottom, which I don't want to give away the ending for here. Hopefully I haven't left many loose strings, my apologies if I did.

Ch 18 - A Princely Day

Harry opened the door to the Room of Requirement, letting out a small gasp when he saw what it had been transformed to. A small church, it seemed, rows of wooden benches with simple yet comfortable looking cushions on them, surrounded by cool stone walls that looked suspiciously like the ones in his living room at Cairn Hollow. Harry glimpsed out the windows of the room and saw his back garden, causing him to blink in disbelief. Somehow the room had charmed itself to look like it belonged in Cairn Hollow.

Dudley took a strong grip of his arm then, and they walked to the centre of the room. His friends were all gathered and sitting to the sides, his dorm-mates, the Weasleys, even Arabella Figg was there dressed in her finest. It was an old fashioned dress with lace on the cuffs that looked fifty years out of date, but she was very neat looking and damned proud, by the glint Harry could see in her eyes.

The professors were all there as well, sitting across the aisle from Harry's friends, all dressed in their best robes. Sybil Trelawney sat beside Hooch, dressed in a faded blue gown that clashed horridly with the deep purple shawl she was wearing. The gown looked to be a bit worn, and Harry could tell that ten years before it had probably been blinding. She topped off the outfit with her traditional flowered scarf to hold he hair back, and gave Harry a tipsy smile as he walked by. Harry fought the incredible urge to laugh, as he realized that she reminded him of Jennifer Saunders from Absolutely Fabulous.

Harry flashed a surprised smile at the Prime Minister, who was sitting beside Kingsley, and he was brought to a stop in front of the room. Ron was standing to one side of him, and Hermione was on the other, standing with Snape and Aberforth Dumbledore.

Minerva McGonagall stood before them, and smiled softly at Harry. She gave him a moment to take in his surroundings, and Harry felt calmer with Snape being near. He had dressed in a simple black tuxedo, with a silver tie that glinted against his black eyes. The shirt, instead of being a white, was a blood red colour, very dark like aged wine. His hair was loose as always, but Harry thought it looked a bit more styled than normal, and definitely had lost the greasy appearance.

Harry turned to the room to give a little wave, and when his eyes rested on Dumbledore's portrait, he nodded once. Dumbledore looked proud and happy, sitting amongst the Weasley family. They had come to the wedding in their best robes, and Harry felt like his full family was there, supporting him. Ginny sat at the edge of the Weasley row, dressed in a beautiful simple gown, with he hair braided and a small lily flower resting in the hair over her ear. Even though they'd split a year and a half earlier, Harry still felt a slight pang of guilt for being happy and having moved on as if he'd never dated her before

At least, that's what he felt like. Staring at Snape, Harry realized that he felt like he'd never dated anyone before, until he'd started to live with the man. Funny feeling that was, and Harry was determined to think about it later.

McGonagall cleared her throat, getting Harry's attention again.

"Who brings Harry James Potter here today, to give wholly to his partner?"

Harry bit his tongue to not laugh at the language. Dudley straightened beside him and took a deep breath.

"I do. I mean..er.. Dudley Dursley." Dudley's cheeks were red, and Harry could tell that Dudley didn't want to say the wrong thing.

"Thank you." Minerva smiled kindly and turned to Harry's side. "And who brings Severus Éamon Snape to give over to his life partner?"

Aberforth stepped forward and gave a little bow to McGonagall. "Aberforth Dumbledore."

Another nod, and another smile. "Do the families of Mr. Snape and Mr. Potter agree to this union?"

"We do." Dudley answered, stepping forward and shaking hands with Aberforth. They then returned to the sides, standing beside Hermione and Ron. Harry felt instantly relaxed, and he was glad that the ceremony wouldn't take much longer. It felt ridiculous to be making such a big deal out of his decision to be with Snape for the rest of his life, but Harry knew the ritual was important. Important to show Snape that he was serious.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Snape, it is time for you to say your vows." McGonagall had a wet sparkle in her eyes, and when Snape turned to face Harry he saw that Molly Weasley was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. He barely managed not to smirk, though he could tell from Harry's impish grin that Harry had seen the same thing.

"I, Severus Snape, promise not to strangle, poison, incarcerate, nor use Harry Potter for potion ingredients. I promise to continue to ensure his stubborn survival for as long as I shall live."

A not so muffled snort was heard from the direction of Hagrid, who was silently shaking in his seat and trying not to laugh. He only managed to draw further attention to himself however, as his furry dress suit made him look like some sort of grotesque teddy bear. Molly's head had snapped up at the vow, and she ignored the laughter of Hagrid and the snickers of her sons. Charlie was laughing particularly loudly, so Molly finally glared at him.

"I, Harry James Potter, promise not to maim, overly irritate, or cause suffering to Severus Snape by way of acting out idiotic Gryffindor tendencies like battling dragons. I promise to defend him and prevent him from getting himself arrested for as long as I am lucky to live."

This time Hagrid couldn't stop it. He released a loud burst of laughter, causing the other professors to start giggling. The Weasleys looked like they'd been dosed with laughing gas, with the exception of Molly.

"Oh for heaven's sake!" She marched up to the front of the room, ignoring the chuckles of her family and colleagues. Grabbing Harry's hand and Snape's hand, she thrust them together and glared at them. Harry was reminded of the very first time he'd arrived to the Burrow, when the twins had stolen the car and driven it half way across England.

"Severus, tell Harry that you promise to love him and stand by him for the rest of your life." She pinched his wrist strongly, and Snape flinched, trying to jerk his arm away.

"I just did woman; unhand me." He looked annoyed, but Harry could also see amusement in his eyes.

"Say it properly to my son." She hissed, and Snape rolled his eyes.

"Potter, I promise to do what she said." He raised his eyebrow in a pointed look at the angry mother. Ron was suddenly very grateful that he was not in Snape's shoes.

"Hare-Ree." Molly spoke slowly, accentuating both syllables in his name. Snape could see that she would not relent until he said it, and in the interest of finishing the ceremony and getting to the feast, he swallowed his pride.

"Harry. I promise to love you and stand by you for the rest of your life." Snape looked directly at Harry as he said it, ignoring how silent the rest of the room had become. Molly released Snape's hand, smiling tenderly at them.

"Even if you are an idiot Gryffindor most days." Snape finished, his arm whipping back out of Molly's reach.

"That's alright, Severus." Harry grinned, speaking up quickly before Molly could harm them further. "I promise to do the same for you."

"Well then." McGonagall said to the very flustered Molly. "I do believe I can now announce Mr. Harry and Severus Prince." She joined their hands and tapped her wand, watching with the rest of the room as the rings glowed white hot and changed back to the wedding band design they'd first had when Snape had given Harry his.

Wanting to shock his friends further, Harry grabbed Snape's suit jacket and pulled him forward for a kiss that would be classified as rather inappropriate in public. Catcalls and whistles echoed through the room, with Bill and George cheering Harry on.

…

The reception was held at the Hog's Head, close enough to Hogwarts that they could return quickly if there was a problem with the students. Or as Charlie pointed out, close enough to stagger back to at the end of the night.

The pub had been closed to the public, and Aberforth took his spot swiftly behind the bar, serving drinks with a speed that impressed Harry. Though Aberforth was a wizard, Harry knew the speed and grace was from years of practice.

After a breathtaking meal of lamb stew, of which Snape swore had been laced with some sort of potion to make it taste that good, Neville and Seamus moved over to the large CD player in the corner of the room. The dance floor, which had formally been the bar area, was cleared with a whisk of a wand and all eyes were suddenly on him. Rising to his feet, Snape kept his head high and held his hand out to Harry.

They made their way to the centre of the dance floor, ignoring the whispers from their guests.

_They have no idea we've danced before._ Harry's grin was small and only for Snape's eyes.

**Try to remember how to fake it.**

Snape twitched his lips a little and put one hand at the small of Harry's back, clasping the other in front of him. The sounds of a soft Spanish song filled the room, and they forgot that anyone else was there. Snape slowly spun Harry around the floor, never breaking eye contact as they moved. Harry didn't trip once, and Snape let his hand softly brush hair back from Harry's eyes on one dip.

Hermione sighed to herself, and pulling Ron up, they joined the dance floor. Soon Snape noticed that they were no longer dancing alone, but he didn't care much at that moment. Harry smelled delicious, a slightly earthen mix of his cologne and aftershave. He also noted a vague coconut smell that was explained when Harry rested his head in the crook of Snape's neck, his hair in close proximity to Snape's nose.

**Your cousin is dancing with Miss Lovegood.**

_Is he? Good. I think he needs to learn to think outside the box._

**I daresay she will accomplish that in short order.**

Harry smiled and brought his hands down, resting them Snape's waist.

_This is nice. They did a good job planning the wedding._

**Your friends have gotten…older.**

_We all have, Snape. The price of war._

**Indeed.**

Molly and Arthur danced near them, rosy cheeks from the wine that had been at the table.

"Gentlemen, congratulations. I expect grandchildren!" Molly blurted with a slight giggle.

Arthur swept her away before they could sputter much back in return, and Harry's widened eyes met Snape's.

"Is that even possible? We're men!"

"Surrogacy, or adoption, I expect she means." Snape's face was flushed and he shook his head to clear the thought of a miniature version of himself running around.

"God, I hope she doesn't expect grandkids anytime soon. I should warn Ron." Harry mumbled into Snape's shoulder, causing the older man to start chuckling.

They danced a little longer, and though the song changed, Snape did not relent his grasp on Harry. He also pretended not to notice the auto camera happily clicking away in the corner of the room.

**There was a letter on the table this morning, from Mr. Malfoy.**

Harry shifted slightly at the change of subject, but answered anyway.

_Oh. Right well, I suppose you'd find out about that next week anyway._

Harry looked sheepish, but Snape just waited for the explanation. He preferred speaking through the rings in such a large room, left over habits from his spying days. He hated to be eavesdropped on.

**Litli Prinsinn is your company?**

_Yeah. And my company is going to publish Malfoy's book about you. Well, an edited version._

Snape spun Harry and dipped him, bending down for a chaste peck on his lips. Neither noted the claps from the other couples around them.

_You'll like the book. A step in the shadow of Jonathan Swift, if I may say._

**You re-wrote his whole book? **

Snape eyed Harry with suspicion and Harry laughed, leading Snape back to the head table for refreshments.

_Didn't need to. A little editing here and there, and a well-written introduction by Harry Potter himself._

"My little Slytherin." Snape murmured, taking a sip of his wine.

….

After six hours, when the old clock tower in Hogsmeade rang for midnight, Harry and Snape finally begged off. They wished to return to Hogwarts relatively unscathed by the now drunk and very cheerful wedding guests. As they walked out the door, Harry's arm hooked in the crook of Snape's, Seamus threw on one last song for them. _Who Loves You_, by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons followed them out into the bitter cold night.

Harry barely stopped to pet Sadie when they entered the flat, leading Snape by a very soft grasp on his fingers to their bedroom. Harry, showing more patience than he ever had as a student working on his school tasks, methodically stripped the suit from Snape, taking extra care to nip and kiss at his husband's pale skin as he went.

His husband. Harry blushed at the thought, feeling happy and giddy.

Snape stood and after removing Harry's clothes, he pushed the younger man back onto their bed. Flicking his wand towards the record player, Harry heard the soft music fill the room. It was a soft guitar mixture with violin, and Harry knew that he was seeing a very tender side to Snape that he'd not seen before.

"Glass Vase Cello Case." Snape answered Harry's unasked question, capturing the younger man's lips with his own. Snape delicately crawled over Harry, and Harry felt warm and soft skin as Snape's body pushed down onto him, cradled softly into Harry's hips.

Harry had never felt so content in his life. He whispered two spells to prepare himself, not wanting to wait any longer for completion. He urged Snape forward with small and needy kisses along Snape's jawbone, drawing his hands and nails in light circles on Snape's back. Harry soon felt Snape's hard erection pushing at his entrance, and he mewed in satisfaction.

It was the slowest love-making they had ever made, and Snape didn't regret one second of it. He rocked into Harry, savoured the sweat that had appeared at the base of Harry's neck, nipped at the skin by his earlobe, moaned as his stomach rubbed against the hardness between them. Harry had hooked his legs around Snape's waist, locking his ankles tightly and not permitting them to slide apart. Nails scratched down Snape's back, and a strong yet desperate grasp on his rear propelled him forward, deeper. Snape found it incredibly erotic, and worked hard to hit Harry's prostate with each thrust.

"Oooooohh."

Harry keened, and Snape knew he would keep that memory in his mind forever. Pensieve or not, Snape wouldn't forget it. Harry gasped, and Snape knew he was close to coming. Nipping slightly on Harry's nose caused Harry to open his eyes at Snape, who was peering back at him with a look of tenderness and protectiveness.

"I do love you."

It was whispered, it wasn't forced, and Harry knew it wasn't just blurted in the heat of the moment.

Orgasm overtook him, and his body shuddered violently at the burst of ecstasy. It was too much for Snape to take evidently, as he came shortly after, and slumped on top of Harry.

Harry could feel how hot Snape's body was, how sweaty and loose the muscles now were from their work out. He shook a few loose strands of black hair from his face as Snape nuzzled into his neck for a moment, letting his arms and body rest.

"I know. And I love you too." Harry wrapped his arm around Snape, running his fingers through the oily black hair he'd come to adore.

….

Monday morning was bright and sunny, the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall showing barely a cloud in the sky. Students shuffled in and took their usual seats, glancing up at the head table, where Professor Severus Snape sat at his usual spot, dressed in his usual black teaching robes, drinking his morning tea and reading the paper. He completely ignored the students around him, only glancing up once to verify that Richard Marlow was there, one of the Slytherin prefects. He was seated close to the staff table, no doubt wanting to be the first to hear about the wedding, as he was in charge of the betting pool.

Snape bit back a smile and waited for Harry to arrive. Today would be fun.

Ten minutes later, Harry strolled through the staff door, dressed in his favourite green teaching robes and looking like he was glowing. His hair was as wild as ever, but Harry had a grin for the whole room as he plunked down on the chair next to Snape, and stole a sip of the man's tea. All eyes were on him, and Harry was very aware of it.

"Prince, are you too daft to make your own tea that you must steal mine?" Snape lowered one corner of the newspaper and gave Harry an annoyed look.

"You make it just how I like it." Harry grinned cheekily back, putting his arm around Snape's shoulder and patting it once. Both fought the hard urge to laugh when the students gasped, and then whispers spread like wildfire through the room.

"Mr. Marlow." Snape said over his newspaper, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. "I do expect my share of the winnings by this evening."

Marlow swallowed hard and answered clearly. "Yea…yes sir."

Marlow sat back in his chair and pulled out the list of gamblers, distractedly counting out the low number of people who'd guessed that it was Potter Snape would marry. His mind kept revolving around two questions. How on earth had he known about the bet? And under what name had he placed his own bet?

…

Epilogue – 15 years later.

Snape sat up at the head table, feet tapping along with the tune in his head. He watched the students file in, most looking tanned, hungry, and a bit tired. To his left was his husband, currently arguing with the new flying instructor over the purchase of new brooms for the school. To his right sat the headmistress, and her attention was on the side door of the room. It opened and Hagrid made his way through, a slight limp to him as he led a group of nervous first years. Most were nervous, Snape corrected, looking fondly at the one boy who wasn't.

"_And though time goes by I will always be, in a club with you in 1973…"_

Fingers tapped in rhythm along the table next to him, and Snape realized he must have been playing the song in his mind across the ring link. He put on his best scowl and turned to look at Harry, who was smiling at him. Fifteen years of teaching at Hogwarts, and Harry still looked forward to every welcoming feast as if it were Christmas. Snape shook his head.

"That song has been stuck in your head for a month now. Want to go clubbing with me?" Harry smirked, taking a sip of his wine and watching the first years line up. His eyes grazed Snape's once, before turning to search for the black haired head amongst the group of children.

McRua, the new deputy headmaster, was standing and calling out names, smiling with encouragement to each child as they sat upon the stool and were sorted into their new houses. Snape didn't reply to Harry, but didn't stop the music either. Finally, the boy both had been watching turned quickly to look at the head table, a slight look of apprehension on his face as he steeled himself.

"Prince, Robert!" McRua proclaimed, and all eyes were focused at the front of the room. Regardless of the name Prince, it was very clear to the students that this boy was a pure mixture of Potter and Snape. His unruly black hair was shoulder length and black as night, and though his sharp cheekbones and jaw came directly from Snape, his bright piercing green eyes were all Harry's. The broad stature and timid smile was Harry's as well, but Harry knew that their son had thankfully inherited Snape's intelligence.

Robert sat on the stool and closed his eyes while the hat was placed on him. Both Snape and Harry appeared to be relaxed as they waited for their son to be sorted, even though the rest of the room seemed to be rather tense. Finally, after a few minutes thought, the hat moved and pronounced it's verdict.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Robert turned to look at his fathers before jumping down, receiving a small smile and a nod from Snape, and a cheery wink from Harry. He walked to his spot at his new house table, and grinned while he was welcomed with claps on his back.

McGonagall had only seen Severus Snape look that proud once before, and it was when he'd perfected the potion that would allow both he and Harry to create a child, only needing the surrogacy of a woman to carry the baby to full term. Indeed, Snape had become rather rich due to the patent of that potion, and Minerva had often wondered why they'd only had one child.

At the staff table, students noted with shocked amusement as Harry held his hand out to Professor Sprout, who handed something over to him that looked suspiciously like galleons. Jaws were dropped as they noted Snape doing the same to the headmistress, a broad smirk across his face. She reluctantly handed over the galleons, and announced that dinner was to commence.

At the Gryffindor table, Robert Prince shyly chatted to his new housemates, eager to make friends and overcome the stigma of being the son of two of the most famous wizards of their time.

The House of Bravery indeed.

The End.

…xxxxxxxxxx…..

The song played was _Glass Vase Cello Case_ by Tattle Tale, which I very highly recommend. It's really pretty and I couldn't stop picturing it for this scene. As for Robert and the potion, the potion allows for two same sex wizards or witches to combine their chromosomes to make a baby, just like a heterosexual couple would. They just need a woman to carry the baby, though the child only has the two original parents. Does that make sense? It does in my mind, which is really where it counts. *G*


End file.
